


Saved

by copperplate



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 92,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperplate/pseuds/copperplate
Summary: “Jesus Christ, I forgot Parrish was living with the Snake,” Blue interjects.“Snake?” Adam asks.“Yes, Snake. Obviously.”“Jane, don’t be mean,” Gansey scolds.“I’m not being mean, it’s his nickname. He calls me Maggot, I call him Snake. They’re our terms of endearment.”“Those are some very unorthodox terms of endearment,” Adam points out.“You’ve only known him for a day,” Blue says. “After a month you can let me know whether or not you agree with the nickname.”***Adam is starting Harvard Medical School and finds himself with a new roommate with a chip on his shoulder. What he doesn't realize is that they both have more in common than they know, including dark pasts that have not quite let them go. The only thing that may save them from themselves is each other.*NEW BONUS CHAPTER* - just some sappy, emotional smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! I'm trying something new with this fic (I don't usually do AUs or fics without endings). Fair warning, this fic will go to dark places. I will post chapter warnings as needed, but I won't sugar coat the mature situations. Expect drug abuse, physical abuse, some non-con, and lots of angst. This is a Pynch fic at its core, but will take time getting there (all good things come to those who wait).  
> Unbeta'd.

The Hondayota whines in the early autumn heat as Adam pulls into the outdoor lot in front of the converted factory building. He stares up at the three story edifice with trepidation. He could have gone back to student housing like he had planned, but the scholarship money didn’t cover medical school, only undergrad, and the offer Gansey had given him was too good to refuse.

He opens the door of his shitty, patchwork car and throws the first of many bags over his shoulder.

Adam lumbers up the flight of stairs and finds himself in front of the door to apartment 203. With a sigh, he puts the key in the lock, turns it, and enters his new home.

The place is surprisingly spacious and completely furnished. Adam, having spent 4 years in a dorm room the size of a closet, feels the largess of the space uncomfortably press in. The foyer leads directly to the living room that sports a nice flat screen tv and several video game consoles, a leather loveseat and matching leather couch, and a coffee table already messily covered with car magazines. The kitchen, directly on the right, has brand new, modern appliances. Adam makes his way through the kitchen, opening a cupboard here a there to find the kitchen stocked sufficiently for any aspiring chef. With a huff, he moves on to the door leading to the bathroom containing a fairly large tub and the washer and dryer. Adam can’t remember the last time he has had a bath, and his mouth almost waters with the prospect.

Adam deduces the bedrooms are on the other side of the apartment. He cuts his way through the living room to the small alcove and stares at the two closed doors. He doesn’t know which one is supposed to be his. With a shrug, he reaches out to the one on the right to grasp the door handle, and is startled when the door flies open at his touch.

Adam suddenly finds himself face to face with a very pale, very angry-looking, very tall man.

“Um, hi. You must be Ronan?” Adam asks hesitantly, placing a friendly, if not sheepish smile onto his face.

Gansey had said very little about his childhood friend, Ronan Lynch, aside from that he liked fast cars, swore too much, and even if he seemed rough around the edges, he was a good guy, really.

Gansey forgot to mention how striking he was. Especially when Ronan trails his ice blue eyes judgementally up and down Adam’s body. Ronan wears a black tank top and form fitting black jeans that notably contrasts the porcelain tone if his skin. Curling around his neck appears to be the inked edges of a tattoo in sharp and angry points. The man is clean shaven. Completely clean shaven, even his head sporting nothing but a black fuzz. Ronan stares at Adam silently, disapprovingly, with an impatient eyebrow crooked.

“Uh, I guess the other room is mine,” Adam reasons aloud, stepping out of Ronan’s way. Without a word, Ronan moves past Adam, beyond the kitchen, and into the bathroom.

“Pleasant fellow,” Adam grumbles to himself as he enters his new bedroom.

He is pleased to find a large desk ( _is that mahogany?)_ , a twin bed already made, a large closet, dresser, and a bookshelf stocked with a collection of medieval history books ( _Thanks Gansey…_ ).

Adam suspects his meager belongings will barely fill the room, which is hardly anything to complain about, and decides to spend the next hour unloading his car.

Adam does not see Ronan again for four whole hours until Ronan emerges from his bedroom once more, headphones blaring house music, or was it techno? EDM? Adam can’t be bothered to know anything about it except it being LOUD.

Adam watches from the living room couch as Ronan makes his way to the fridge, opens it, drops several f bombs, closes it, and stalks to the door.

“Hey,” Adam says. Ronan pointedly ignores him as he shoves on his shoes.

“Hey!” Adam yells. Ronan freezes over the threshold of the front door. He pulls the left earphone away and gives Adam a glare from over his shoulder.

“What?” he growls.

Adam is not impressed with Ronan’s tone, but decides to proceed anyway.

“I was going to make a lasagna for dinner. You want some?”

Ronan seems taken aback by the question, his glare turning more into a grimace.

“Sure, mom,” he says, before stepping through the door and pulling it shut behind him.

“What an ass,” Adam mumbles aloud. If that dick thinks for one second that Adam will let him walk all over him, he clearly has another thing coming. Adam is no pushover. Not anymore.

After showering (blessedly the water pressure is _amazing_ ), and dressing, Adam makes his way back to his car to pick up his first batch of groceries. As he buckles in, his cell chirps at him. He sees the caller id and sighs knowing that Gansey is calling just to gossip.

“Parrish!” Gansey says so cheerily Adam can almost visualize his bright white smile blinding him. “So? How do you like the place?”

“Honestly, it’s nicer than anything I could ever afford,” Adam replies.

“Right? Thanks so much for taking over the lease for me.”

Adam frowns.

“I’m serious, it’s nicer than anything I could _ever_ afford,” Adam repeats meaningfully. There is a pause on the other end, then a swallow.

“Then I guess I was really luck to find it at that price,” Gansey adds stubbornly. Richard Campbell Gansey the Third is a terrible liar. “And we should all be happy that you did _me_ such a nice favor of taking it over so I can move in with Blue.”

Adam knows starting a fight over this would lead to a headache. He has a very powerful inkling that Gansey is subsidizing a large portion of Adam’s rent just so Adam could live in his apartment. And Gansey knows very well Adam’s stance on charity. But if Adam is being honest with himself, he has no time to find another place to live in before the semester starts. And being so conveniently close to the teaching hospital is going to make those on-call shifts a bit more bearable. Therefore, Adam consciously decides to remain ignorant on whether or not Gansey is partially paying his rent. Because he _will_ pay him back later. Even if later is in another ten years.

“So did you meet Ronan?” Gansey asks curiously, clearly also in the mindset to change the subject.

“Fleetingly,” Adam replies.

His voice must have given his feelings away because Gansey responds anxiously with, “Not the best first impression, huh?”

“He’s something,” Adam cedes vaguely, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Hey man, give Ronan a chance. He’s been through a lot. But he’s a fighter. Like you. I think you two could really get along.”

“Uh huh,” Adam says, wanting to end this conversation now.

“All right, I’ll let you go. Don’t forget, Blue wants you to come over for dinner Friday. 6pm. Housewarming thing. BYOB.”

“Got it.”

“Later Parrish!”

***

The house smells like garlic and cheese and it makes Adam happy. Adam has never prided himself on his cooking abilities, but being on a budget meant that he was forced to turn down going out for pizza or chow mein and instead had to figure out how long $30 of groceries would last him when the meal plan started running thin.

Lasagna was easy. Lasagna was cheap. And lasagna could be frozen, therefore lasting a dozen meals. Thus Adam had mastered lasagna by his sophomore year.

The lasagna sits cooling on the kitchen counter when Ronan finally returns from his mysterious outing. Adam turns from his position on the couch to see the smattering of rain drops glistening on the shoulders of his leather jacket. Ronan unceremoniously kicks off his heavy boots, and collapses onto the loveseat Adam isn’t occupying. There is an open can of Budweiser in his hand that he downs. He then tosses the can onto the floor and properly flops down onto his back to stare at the tv.

Adam feels himself starting to bristle. If Ronan doesn’t put that can in recycling before Adam goes to bed, there will be words.

“Smells fucking good in here,” Ronan states without looking at Adam.

“It’s ready, just cooling. Help yourself,” Adam says politely.

Ronan just as quickly gets up from the loveseat and moves to the kitchen. Adam notices Ronan does not pick up his beer can and frowns at himself. Adam can hear plates clattering against each other and he turns to see Ronan slicing himself a generous piece of the pasta dish.

Adam stares as Ronan takes his first bite while leaning against the kitchen counter. Ronan chews slowly, the scowl ever present on his face. Adam starts to think it may be too much to hope that his new room mate would deign to offer a comment, but then Ronan’s gaze shifts to Adam peering at him over the edge of the couch.

“Not bad,” he grunts before pushing himself off the counter and grabbing a second plate. He starts loading a smaller piece onto the second plate, and this has Adam baffled.

“Expecting guests?” Adam asks. Adam doesn’t want to create a precedent where they don’t discuss visitors with each other. Navigating a new roommate is always difficult, especially when Adam is going to need peace and quiet to study and catch up on sleep. He doesn’t want to appear like a diva, but Adam knows his schedule isn’t going to afford him much sleep. Not that such an arrangement is new for Adam Parrish. Still, he figures it’s just common courtesy to run it by one’s roommate before inviting company over…

“It’s for Chainsaw,” Ronan says blithely, and makes his way to his bedroom.

“I’m sorry, who?” Adam asks. He swears Ronan had just said the name of a power tool like it was a person.

“My raven,” Ronan tersely replies.

“Your what, now?”

Ronan balances the second plate on his forearm to open his bedroom door.

“It’s a type of corvid, Parrish. And here I thought you were smart.”

And with that, Ronan kicks his door shut behind him.

Adam stares at the door for several seconds, trying to guess if Ronan was joking or not.

“You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me.”

***

“No,” Gansey says, pushing his wireframes higher on his nose, “he wasn’t joking. He really does have a pet raven.”

Adam has just finished his first day of orientation. He is already feeling stressed with his complicated schedule and having almost a dozen professors tell him his life was about to go into overdrive. When Gansey had called to meet up for a drink, Adam almost ran to meet him at their favourite pub.

“Like an actual raven?” Adam repeats, staring wide eyed at Gansey.

“Yes. She should be fully grown by now. She can also be pretty loud. I’m surprised you haven’t heard her yet.”

Adam takes a small sip of his soda. Adam was never a big drinker, so he enjoys the ambiance of the pub more than the menu.

“How does one come to own a raven?” he asks, completely bemused.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Gansey replies, waving his hand as if the question was ludicrous. “It’s _Ronan_.”

“I’m still not quite sure what that means…”

Gansey chuckles and takes a long drag of his Guinness.

“I’m sure you’ll find out.”

“Your vagueness makes me worry I’m living with the anti-Christ,” Adam admits.

“Don’t be silly. Ronan is good people. Just… _Ronan_.”

“Again, saying his name like that is not an actual description.”

Gansey smiles that heart-melting smile and just shrugs. “It’ll be fine,” he says with his trademark confidence. “It’s only been a day. You two will warm up to each other.”

“Uh huh.”

“More importantly, tell me about med school!” Gansey asks with an infectious eagerness.

“Well,” Adam begins with a sigh, “we got an hour-long lecture on how we are all crazy type A personalities that need to stop being competitive with each other because we’ve made it to med school and now we need to work as a team. This was then followed by an hour-long lecture about how our grades will eventually determine who gets first picks of residencies, and as such we need to make sure we don’t drop down our guards even for a second.”

“That’s some mixed messages they got going on there,” Gansey confirms.

“Then we got a tour of the school and then they insisted that we do a Myers-Brigg personality test ‘just for fun’.”

Gansey frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever done one…”

“It’s complete nonsense,” Adam explains with a shake of his head. “They ask you a bunch of multiple choice questions and then slot you into one of sixteen personality types. The questions are transparent. If you are familiar with the sixteen categories, you can easily pick out the answers that will put you in any personality type you want.”

“So what did you get?” Gansey asks.

“INTJ.”

“Which means?”

“It means I would make a very good, cold-hearted, James Bond villain,” Adam deadpans.

Gansey bursts into laughter. Adam matches his reaction with his own smile.

“Would you be offended if I said that kinda makes sense?” Gansey asks.

“Not at all. I kinda take it as a compliment,” Adam reassures. “It’s much better than some of the other types people got.”

“For the record, I don’t think you are cold-hearted,” Gansey adds. “But sometimes…” Gansey pauses, clearly unsure how to phrase the next part without offending Adam.

“Sometimes I can use a bit more empathy?” Adam fills in.

“Something like that,” Gansey cedes.

“I’ll work on it,” Adam says. “No one wants a cold-hearted doctor.”

From over Adam’s shoulder, a new voice chirps in, “Personally, if I had a choice between House and J.D., I’d pick House.”

Adam turns to see Blue leaning casually against their booth. Her hair is in disarray, barely held together with clips. Her stockings are torn. Her shoelaces don’t match. Adam thrills at the fact that every bit of her ensemble is intentional chaos. It’s part of what makes Blue fascinating to Adam: she is a perfectly composed hurricane to contrast his quiet, dry desert.

“Jane!” Gansey exclaims. He nearly jumps out from his seat to wrap up his lady love in his arms. They share a quick kiss, smiling at each other like they are each other’s suns. Something uncomfortable squirms in Adam’s stomach. In the past, it was jealousy. Now… maybe just yearning that one day he could have that. Such true, untainted love. Adam thinks briefly of Caitlin, of her dark eyes, of her full lips when she smiles.

“Sorry, Adam, I know the PDA is terrible,” Blue says, nudging him with her hip to make room in the booth. Without asking, she steals a sip of his soda and then frowns. “Adam Parrish, why do you insist on ordering diet cola? Aspartame tastes like ass. Plus you are skinny enough to need the extra calories.”

“I do it so that a short, feisty, demon girl would stop stealing my drinks.”

Blue glares at Adam. Adam glares back, unfazed.

“I can buy the table a pitcher of soda if that would make things easier,” Gansey chirps in.

Both Adam and Blue turn their glares on Gansey. Gansey raises his hands defensively in front of him, acknowledging he is expected to keep his mouth shut.

“I’ll buy my own drink, thank you very much,” Blue grumbles. Adam merely nods.

“So how’s the new place?” Adam asks, dispelling the tension.

“Well come Friday, you’ll see it for yourself,” Blue replies with a proud smile.

“It’s great,” Gansey says. “We have a spare bedroom. So I turned it into a study.”

“What Dick means to say is that we had a spare bedroom and mini Henrietta was _not_ going to take up half the living room,” Blue clarifies.

Adam laughs. Gansey has had insomnia for as long as Adam could remember, and he would spend the sleepless nights making a miniature version of Adam’s hometown. Adam never understood Gansey’s love and fascination with Henrietta; he had always chalked it up to Gansey being charmed by the novelty of something that is the opposite of what he was raised in. That is to say, Henrietta is dirty, small, and full of hicks, whereas Gansey was raised in the wealthiest areas of big city D.C., rubbing elbows with CEOs and politicians.

In fact, Richard Campbell Gansey the Third was a Yale legacy who thought the best way to rebel against his parents was to go to Harvard. Adam and Gansey had met freshman year in the library, or perhaps it would be better to say the parking lot outside the library. Gansey’s ancient Camaro wouldn’t start and Adam couldn’t take another second of watching the poor bastard in the hideous boat shoes stare dumbly at his engine. Once Adam had offered to help fix Gansey’s car, Gansey decided that they were best friends and there was nothing Adam could do about it.

Gansey was eccentric if a bit naïve. He was embarrassingly wealthy, painfully handsome (but unaware of it), and strangely obsessed with dead Welsh kings sleeping in small Virginia towns. In fact, when Gansey had found out Adam was from Henrietta, he almost keeled over with glee since he had been searching that very town for over a year for this dead king, Glendower. Gansey was also sadly incapable of not putting his foot in his mouth, which is why Adam took pity on him and decided to let the man talk his ear off about ley lines and tombs hiding immortals.

Blue was another “coincidental” Henrietta-local with whom Adam had never crossed paths during his teenage years. Adam had met Blue in the local coffee shop in Cambridge where she worked. After spending too many study nights fueled on dangerous amounts of caffeine in said café, it was inevitable that they would start chatting. Chatting lead to flirting. Flirting led to several dates, all of which were disasters, which led to a mutual agreement that they were better off as friends. In sophomore year, Adam introduced Blue to Gansey. Gansey has offended Blue almost immediately (something about offering to pay her to take the night off so she could sit and chat with them). Adam then had to spend ten minutes trying to smooth things over between the two. The next day, as further proof of Gansey’s Gansey-ness, Blue received a bouquet of flowers as an apology. And then another one the following day. And then again. Every day. For two weeks. Until Blue agreed to forgive Gansey and join the two boys for dinner, Gansey’s treat. At first, Adam thought that Gansey had done that little stint with the flowers because it was just the Gansey thing to do. Only during that fateful dinner did Adam realize that Gansey’s behaviour was due to being completely smitten with Blue. Through chronic exposure, Blue inevitably succumbed to Gansey’s charm, just like everybody else. The rest was history.

“Are you bringing Caitlin to dinner on Friday?” Blue asks, quirking an eyebrow meaningfully.

“That’s the plan,” Adam replies.

“Have I met Caitlin?” Gansey asks. “Is she the black one?”

Both Blue and Adam give Gansey a stern look.

“What?” Gansey asks, genuinely unsure which part of what he said was wrong.

“Yes, she’s the black one,” Adam confirms.

“But really, you should remember her for more than just her skin color,” Blue admonishes.

“It’s hard to do that when I’ve never met her and have only seen a picture!” Gansey counters.

“Fair point,” Blue says, turning to Adam, “Which raises the question: why haven’t we met her yet? It’s been, what? Four months now you’ve been dating.”

“Something like that,” Adam says sheepishly.

“What, you ashamed of us or something?” Gansey teases, but there is a bit of tension in his voice.

“Don’t be silly, love, we’re the best things that has every happened to this loser,” Blue replies cheekily.

“I’ve just been busy. And we were all kind of all over the place during the summer. You’ll meet her Friday. I think you’ll like her, Blue. She’s doing her Master’s thesis on gender fluidity and androgyny in mainstream media.”

“Neat,” Blue says.

“She obviously is something special. To have caught your eye,” Gansey adds.

“Or maybe she just hasn’t realized she’s too good for me yet,” Adam teases.

“Speaking of Friday night,” Gansey adds, almost anxiously. “Adam, can you drag Ronan along with you?”

Adam tenses at the request and gives Gansey an uncertain look.

“I want him to come,” Gansey explains. “But trying to get an RSVP out of Ronan Lynch is like trying to crush diamonds with your bare hands.”

“I can remind him about it,” Adam offers. “But I can’t really force him to go.”

“That’s good enough. I appreciate it.”

“Jesus Christ, I forgot Parrish was living with the Snake,” Blue interjects.

“Snake?” Adam asks.

“Yes, Snake. Obviously.”

“Jane, don’t be mean,” Gansey scolds.

“I’m not being mean, it’s his nickname. He calls me Maggot, I call him Snake. They’re our terms of endearment.”

“Those are some very unorthodox terms of endearment,” Adam points out.

“You’ve only known him for a day,” Blue says. “After a month you can let me know whether or not you agree with the nickname.”

***

Adam knows he is fifteen minutes late and feels terrible about it. He isn’t the type of person that is normally late. He is the type of person that always shows up five minutes early. He is the type of person that gets infuriated when other people are late. He realized he should have texted Caitlin, but was distracted by trying to create a mnemonic of all the muscles in the human leg. Anatomy was not going to be his most difficult class, but it was definitely going to be the most tedious.

Adam throws the diner door open and sees Caitlin sitting at a small table near the window, typing at her phone. She doesn’t look angry. But then again, Caitlin has never had a temper. That’s part of why he likes her.

“Hey, I’m so sorry,” he says as he collapses into the seat across from her. Her hair is loose today in unruly, fluffy curls and Adam can’t help but smile. He has always found women more attractive when they just let their natural beauty show.

“You look beautiful,” Adam adds, his Henrietta accent slipping slightly. Adam swallows it down while Caitlin blushes.

“Such a charmer,” she says with a shake of her head. “But you’re still late.”

“I know.”

“Is everything okay?” Caitlin asks. “You seem off.”

“I’m just getting used to the new schedule.”

“So is this going to be a recurring thing?”

“No.”

Caitlin grabs the menu and starts browsing. “Hungry?” she asks.

“Not really,” Adam lies. The truth is Adam is always hungry. But Adam did not budget for this lunch and still has a peanut butter sandwich in his bag to nibble on.

“Share a milkshake with me?” Caitlin offers as a compromise.

“Depends on the flavour.”

“Mmmmm, I’m feeling banana/chocolate today.”

“Sounds good,” Adam says. In the back of his mind, he is chanting the mantra he invented:

_Gluteus maximus, gluteus medius, sartorius, tensor fascia latea, rectus femoris, iliotibial tract, biceps femoris, semimembranosus, semitendinosus, adductor maximus, …_

“Uh, Earth to Adam,” Caitlin says, waving her hand in front of his face. “You hear me?”

Adam blinks, realizing he didn’t even notice Caitlin was still talking.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if that thing with your friends is still this Friday.”

“Oh. Yeah. It is. You can still make it, right?”

“Yes,” Caitlin brushes her hair out of her face. “Seriously, Adam, what’s going on?”

“What?”

“You’re pretty spacey today.”

“Sorry, Caitlin. I’m just stressing about school.”

“Yes, I get that. But you’re here with me right now. So _be here_ with me. The books aren’t going anywhere.”

“Caitlin, the day we started dating I told you, my stu-”

“Your studies come first,” Caitlin finishes for him. “I know. But when you were running yourself ragged last year, even with med school applications, you still made more time for me. I haven’t seen you in person for like two weeks.”

“Caitlin, med school is going to be ten times more difficult than undergrad.”

“I know, Adam. But this is different.”

“How?” he asks. He genuinely doesn’t understand and he hates not understanding.

“Last year you were busy. But you always called. You always apologized. You always tried. Now, the last few weeks… you’re just distant. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

“Caitlin,” Adam’s voice is sad, and he reaches his hand out to grasp hers. Her skin is so soft to the touch. He’s always liked how aesthetically their skin colors contrasted when pressed together. Like honey and chocolate. Caitlin turns her palm up so they can hold hands properly. She looks down at their entwined fingers and gives his hand a squeeze.

“Sometimes,” she says slowly, not meeting his gaze, “I think you’re still not over her.”

“Who?” Adam asks, surprised.

“Blue.”

“Come on,” he says, his Henrietta accent heavy suddenly. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh huh…”

“She’s dating my best friend. They just moved in with each other!”

“Uh huh…”

Adam sighs, takes his hand back, and leans back in his chair to examine Caitlin. Her gaze is still down, but her face is genuinely somber.

“There is nothing going on between me and Blue,” Adam says firmly. “That ship has sailed a very long time ago. I love her. But like a sister. I swear.”

“Do you love me, Adam?” Caitlin asks hesitantly, peeking up at Adam through her eyelashes.

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Do you think you could love me? Is there any future where you see yourself falling in love with me?”

Adam falters as he thinks through her words. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine what his life is like in 5 years. He is interning, running through a hospital with the stethoscope around his neck. He sees himself visiting Gansey and Blue and a small baby gurgling happily in Blue’s arms. He sees himself in his own apartment, finally, a place he can call his own. He does not imagine Caitlin there.

His silence speaks the words his mouth cannot.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, her voice cracking.

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispers, a lump in his throat. He feels the pressure of tears behind his eyes, but tries to hold them back. For Caitlin’s sake.

“Me too.”

The silence sits heavily between them. Neither wishes to speak the words they are both thinking. But Caitlin is strong, and so does what must be done.

“Does this mean we’re done?” she asks, hurt etched on every inch of her face.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s an answer in and of itself,” she says with a sigh. Adam realizes she is right.

Caitlin rises from her seat, taking her purse, slowly putting it on her shoulder. She takes a step towards Adam, pauses, and then dips down to lay a final peck on his cheek.

“Goodbye Adam.”

“Goodbye Caitlin.”

She walks out of the diner without turning back. Adam sits, staring at the cheesy 50s pin-ups on the wall. He really wants that milkshake now. He doesn’t order it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gangsey hang out. Enter Kavinsky stage left. Adam learns more about Ronan than he may have wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No scary tags in this one.  
> Unbeta'd (I should really get a beta...)

“What the fuck are you still doing here?”

Adam feels his stomach drop. He is curled up on the couch, a knit blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, watching Breaking Bad on Netflix. He didn’t think he’d see Ronan tonight, either because Ronan would be busy doing whatever it is that keeps him out late most nights or because Ronan would have gone to Blue and Gansey’s housewarming.

He had sent off a text that morning informing Gansey of his very sudden break-up and how he was not in the most social moods. Gansey, being the prince that he is, told Adam to take care of himself and that he was allowed to bail. Blue had immediately followed that up with her own text simply stating, “Get drunk and eat cake.”

Although Adam would not be getting drunk and was not going to waste the grocery budget on cake, he did think curling up in a ball of depression and wasting his night on good television was just as fitting.

He just didn’t want to do it in front of Ronan.

“I’m not feeling well,” Adam says as explanation, not even glancing at Ronan.

“Bullshit,” Ronan spits and he stomps his way to stand right in front of Adam, Ronan stares down his nose at Adam’s huddled form. “Okay, maybe not bullshit. What the hell happened to you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam grumbles. He really doesn’t see how any of this is Ronan’s business.

“As long as you aren’t contagious…” Ronan replies, and then makes his way to the kitchen.

“Why aren’t _you_ going to Gansey’s?” Adam asks. Not because he truly cares, but because he really wants some alone time with his feelings as opposed to Ronan’s judgement.

“Why should I?” Ronan counters, pulling a can of soda from the fridge and popping the tab.

“Because he’s your best friend? Because he invited you? Because free food?”

“Yeah, but Cheng is going to be there. So fuck that.”

“You know Henry?” Adam asks, surprised. Considering how Adam has only met Ronan this past week, he finds it odd that a more casual acquaintance of Gansey’s had met Ronan first.

“Unfortunately,” Ronan drawls. “Fucking kid is at every goddamn benefit.”

“Benefit?”

“Yeah, that thing where rich people get together and pretend they care about the world by throwing money at it? A benefit.”

Adam almost feels a smile stretch his mouth.

“And what were _you_ doing at said benefits?” Adam asks.

“Fucking dragged against my will,” Ronan explains before chugging the entire can of soda in one go. “Suits, pearls, live orchestras. Fuck that shit. Whoever invented ties should be hanged.”

“Ironic,” Adam nods approvingly.

“Right?”

Ronan gives Adam a smirk, and Adam is almost shocked by it. It’s the first smile he’s seen on Ronan’s face after living a week together, and it almost looks genuine.

“Still, you should go to Gansey’s,” Adam says with a sigh. “So we both don’t look like assholes.”

“I’m perfectly okay with being an asshole,” Ronan retorts before grabbing another can of soda.

“No kidding…” Adam grumbles, which earns him the finger.

“You fucking go if you feel bad about it.”

“I’m in no condition to socialize,” Adam explains, pointing at himself. He knows he has dark bags under his red, puffy eyes, his hair is an unruly mess, and he hasn’t showered in 48 hours.

“If you can’t practice what you preach, Parrish, you should step away from the altar.”

Adam glares at Ronan. Partially because he is learning that he’s a cheeky bastard, and partially because he has a point.

“Fine, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go if you go,” Adam offers.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Ronan rebukes with a look of disgust on his face.

“Because Gansey is your best friend?”

“You tried that one already. Gotta do better than that.”

“Because I will make sure Henry Cheng doesn’t go near you?”

“Warmer,” Ronan says with a smirk, “But still not good enough.”

“Because I had bought a box of wine for the party, and now it’s going to remain untouched under the sink indefinitely.”

“Wait,” Ronan interrupts, putting his hand up. “Did you just say you bought a _box_ of wine?”

“Yeah.”

Ronan starts to laugh. “You were going to bring a _box_ of wine to Gansey’s house?”

“Uh, yeah.” Adam doesn’t understand the joke.

“I’ll go just to see his face when you show up with that.”

“Wait, why?”

Ronan stares at Adam with amusement etched on his face.

“Parrish. He’s a Gansey.”

“And?”

Ronan shakes head.

“Okay, deal then.”

“Huh?”

“Deal,” Ronan says, making his way back to the living room to stand in front of Adam. “If you go to this shindig, I’ll come.”

“Seriously?”

“I never lie. But like, fucking take a shower first. You look like shit.”

***

Adam leads Ronan outside at half past six, meaning they are already late and it bothers Adam on a molecular level, so Adam is almost running to his car. When Ronan finally sees which car Adam is beelining to, he freezes.

“That is hands down the shittiest car I have ever seen.”

“Then you are welcome to walk,” Adam hisses back as he moves to unlock the driver side door of the Hondayota.

“Or we take my car.”

Adam watches Ronan turn on his heel and head to the other side of the parking lot. He stops before a sleek, charcoal grey BMW. Adam can’t help but stare as he tries to place the model.

Ronan swings open the driver’s side door and flashes Adam a cheeky smirk before climbing in.

Adam rolls his eyes, but walks himself to the passenger side and slips into the comfy confines of the leather seats. Adam hates to admit it, but Ronan’s car is magnificent. Already he finds himself fantasizing of getting behind the wheel and gunning it just to see how fast it could go. He has a feeling it goes very very fast.

As Adam tosses his box of wine into the back seat, he slowly starts piecing together Ronan Lynch. He’s figured out that, like Gansey, Ronan comes from money. To afford the apartment and the car with no job Adam is aware of, and to have attended “benefits” while growing up, Ronan’s family must be wealthy. But unlike Gansey, Ronan’s presence doesn’t scream rich. If anything, it screams _Anarchy_ and maybe a handful of expletives.

Ronan turns on the ignition and loud music shakes the entire vehicle. Ronan merely smiles wolfishly.

“Buckle up, Parrish,” he warns, and before Adam can reach for his seatbelt, they fly out of the lot, taking the turn onto the main road faster than would have been sane.

It becomes clear to Adam that Ronan is of the mindset that speed limits are just a suggestion. He is going 60 mph in a 25 zone. When they finally pull onto the highway, Ronan dashes to the left lane and hurls them down it at 80 mph.

“Jesus, where’s the fire at?” Adam asks, teeth clenched as Ronan uses the right lane to dangerously swerve ahead of the car in front of him.

“In my fucking pants. Now shut up, Parrish,” Ronan spits back, his eyes concentrating on the road.

Adam has to admit, Ronan handles the car like it is a part of his own body. He seems so much more relaxed behind the wheel then at any other moment, even though Adam is pretty sure he is going to have a heart attack with how fast and recklessly they are charging down the highway.

Ronan’s right hand rests loosely on the gear shift while his left hand grips the wheel, thick leather bands adorning his wrist. Adam notices the bracelets are chewed and frayed, and there may be something pink on Ronan’s flesh peaking out beneath them, but his attention doesn’t stay there long. Because Ronan is smiling. He’s smiling like Adam has never seen anyone smile before. It’s such a subtle expression of contentment, it makes Adam wonder if Ronan was born behind a wheel.

Ronan gets them to Gansey’s in record time. Adam steps out of the car with his heart pummelling hard and fast in his chest. Driving with Ronan in his car was almost a religious experience, but Adam is not quite sure it is something he is eager to do again.

“Don’t forget your box of wine,” Ronan teases. Adam nods and opens the back door of the BMW to retrieve the goods.

“Lead the way, Parrish,” Ronan sneers, arms crossed over his chest. It seems every breath Ronan takes comes with a side of aggressive subtext. Adam can’t fathom why; it seems like a lot of effort to always have one’s hackles up.

Adam stares up at the three level condo. His mood is still low, his heart still torn. The logical side of his brain keeps telling him it was for the best, that Caitlin was right in that he was probably never going to be in love with her. But his pesky heart keeps arguing _What if…what if….what if…_

“You gonna knock, or is there something fascinating about the door I haven’t noticed yet?” Ronan quips beside him.

Adam knocks. In two heartbeats the door swings open to reveal Gansey, luminous in his horrid salmon colored polo shirt.

“You came!” he declares joyfully, and offers Adam his fist. They fist bump, and then Gansey wraps and arm over Adam’s shoulder in a half embrace.

“Dick,” Ronan greets with nod.

“Lynch, my man!” Gansey says, just as pleasantly surprised. He moves in to give Ronan a hug, but faster than Adam can follow Ronan hooks his arm around Gansey’s neck and holds him down in a head lock.

“Ronan!” Gansey squeals, trying to get loose.

“What did I say about hugging?” Ronan declares with a fierce grin on his face.

“Boundaries, okay, I get it, let me go!” Gansey pleads, slapping at Ronan’s forearm desperately.

“What did I say about safe words?” Ronan says nonchalantly, before giving Adam a conspiratorial wink.

“What?” Gansey gasps, wriggling desperately.

“Safe word, Dick!”

“Dammit, Ronan!” Gansey continues to slap and pull at Ronan fruitlessly.

“For God’s sake, Snake, let the poor man go,” comes a voice behind Adam. He turns to see five feet of pure fury glaring daggers at Ronan.

“Hi, Maggot,” Ronan says with a nod. “You’re looking tiny, as usual.”

“Lynch, I swear to God, I will kick you so hard in the nuts that even your babies will be eunuchs if you don’t let him go immediately,” Blue growls.

Ronan laughs and lets Gansey go. “Dick, I thought we talked about your lady’s anger issues.”

“Please stop calling me Dick,” Gansey begs as he tries to straighten his collar. Blue, meanwhile, gives Ronan the finger, which he returns in kind.

Adam watches the scene in complete bemusement. He never thought he’d see the day anyone would man-handle Richard Campbell Gansey the Third. Witnessing Gansey and Ronan standing next to each other is almost otherworldly. He knew they were long time friends, but everything about them together is a contradiction. Yet the affection between the two is almost palpable. Only friends as close as brothers could treat each other like that and still come back for more.

“I brought wine,” Adam says sheepishly, raising the box to show everyone. Ronan immediately turns to face Gansey as Gansey stares wide-eyed at the large box in Adam’s hand.

“Uh, thanks,” Gansey says, taking the gallon container from Adam with a clearly confused frown on his face. Gansey leads them into the house. As Ronan passes Adam, he mouths the words “Told ya.”

The Gansey/Sargent home is without a doubt one of the most eclectic places on Earth. Gansey lives and breathes in ordered chaos; there are leather bound books and journals scattered about, half written notes draping almost every surface, and the scent of mint lingering in the air. Everything Gansey owns seems to be old but valuable: from his 1973 orange Camaro out front, to the antique mahogany desk (almost a twin to the one he left in Adam’s apartment) that takes up half the wall, to cracked leather chair that contrasts sharply with the clearly second-hand furniture from Blue’s old apartment.

Blue, on the other hand, lives for her aesthetics. Her style is nature, hand-made, and items with stories and history. Thus explains the pictures on the wall of trees, sunsets over African deserts, and even a poster of Blue’s favourite all-female punk band. But without a doubt, the place’s crowning achievement is a large painting above their couch in the living room: it appears to be a forest at night, the trees hidden in shadows and the only colors being the indigos and greens popping where beams of moonlight penetrate through from the canopy. The trees are clearly lush and healthy, but all the darkness in the painting still gives the forest and eerie, almost dangerous appearance. The shadows seem to dance and form recognizable shapes: crowns, crows, claws. Adam notices immediately the painting is an original and squints to read the signature in the right lower corner.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he gasps as he turns to find Ronan already lazing on the leather chair. Gansey sidles up next to Adam and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, my very own Lynch original,” Gansey says with a fond smile. “I almost had to smuggle it out of his studio. He used to be so shy about sharing his art. Fortunately he’s gotten over it.”

“What’s it called?” Adam asks. His hands itch to reach out and touch the dried swirls of paint.

“Good question.” Gansey turns to Ronan, who is now staring at the pair staring at his painting. “What is this one called again?”

Ronan’s eyes wander to Adam’s where they seem to be searching for something, but Adam cannot fathom what.

“Cabeswater,” Ronan whispers.

“Right, Cabeswater,” Gansey repeats with a nod.

“It’s my favourite too,” Blue says from next to Ronan, and offers him an affectionate smile, which Ronan pointedly ignores.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Adam tells Ronan, still a little in awe of the skill shown on the canvas.

“I would hope so, being a fine arts major and all,” Ronan retorts, but with a little less venom in his voice.

“Have you two seriously talked so little that you don’t even know each other’s majors?” Blue says disapprovingly.

“I know Parrish’s major,” Ronan replies smugly. He turns to Adam with a wolfish grin. “Culinary school, right?”

Adam glares at Ronan, who continues to smirk back unfazed.

“Wow, you two both need to work on your social skills,” Blue informs them.

“Speaking of social skills, can I get anyone a drink?” Gansey offers.

“Sure, I’ll have some _wine_ ,” Ronan intones meaningfully. Gansey nods and turns to Adam.

“Me too,” he says.

As Gansey heads to the kitchen Adam asks Blue, “Where is everyone else? I thought this was going to be a big party or something.”

Blue sighs as she collapses on the couch next to Adam.

“Gansey didn’t see the point if you two weren’t going to show,” she explains. “So he told everyone else to take a rain check.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, and he means it. “It hasn’t been the best couple of days for me.”

“I know, hun,” and Blue puts a warm hand on Adam’s knee. “So sad to hear about Caitlin.”

“Who’s Caitlin?” Ronan asks.

“She was my girlfriend until two days ago.”

“Ah, so that’s why you were pouting.”

“I was not pouting,” Adam spits back defensively.

“Sure thing,” Ronan says dismissively.

Gansey shuffles back into the room holding a pair of coffee mugs filled with an aromatic white. He hands one to Ronan and then Adam before taking up the third spot on the couch. Adam stares at the mug, before glancing at Gansey.

“Sorry, the wine glasses are still in your place. I forgot to grab them when I moved out,” he explains.

“Richard Campbell Gansey the Third, if your mother saw you now…” Ronan intones with mock indignancy before he takes a sip. Gansey rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, I have exciting news!” Gansey gushes. “Malory called me yesterday. You remember Malory, right?”

“And he’s off…” Blue mumbles under her breath. Adam shares a knowing smile with her.

“Anyway, he says they have a new lead on Glendower. Apparently in 1872, a British archeologist found some maps based on star charts for the new world. Back then, the maps were dated to about 1600 AD. However, with our better technology, the maps have been re-dated to be from the early 1400s.”

“Which means?” Ronan asks.

“Which means they think they could have belonged to Glendower himself!”

The night progresses with the gang humouring Gansey’s obsession, several more glasses of wine, and some delivery pizza (since no one bothered to actually cook thinking the party was a no-go).

Adam feels the three glasses of wine warming his cheeks and helping him sink into the softness of the couch cushions. Ronan’s long limbs drape languidly over the leather chair across from him. Although he looks bored, he never fails to chirp into the conversation with a dirty joke or sarcastic remark. Adam finds himself laughing more than once at Ronan’s snarkiness, and could see how his wit could be charming if he wasn’t glowering all the time.

Blue and Gansey seem to gravitate closer and closer to each other on the couch as the night progresses, until before long their legs are entangled with each other and Blue’s head is resting on Gansey’s chest.

Adam looks at them and feels the strange heat of _something_ in his stomach. Want. Jealousy. Maybe even happiness that his two closest friends found one another. Before long, Blue is gently snoring into the curve of Gansey’s neck.

“I think that’s our cue to go,” Adam says, pointing to the small puddle of drool forming on Gansey’s hideous polo.

“I think you’re right,” he replies.

“You ready, Lynch?” Adam asks. Ronan hops to his feet and swings his car keys around his finger.

“You okay to drive?” Adam adds. Ronan definitely has had more mugs of wine than Adam, and Adam can still feel the buzz of the booze singing in his veins.

“Please,” Ronan sneers, as if Adam couldn’t have asked anything more offensive.

Adam turns to Gansey who is whispering to a slowly waking Blue. Gansey meets Adam’s worried eyes.

“Ronan’s fine. He’s only had one glass.”

“What?” Adam says surprised.

“Dick has been oh so generous with the ginger ale refills,” Ronan adds.

“Oh…”

Blue gets to her feet to say goodbye. Adam is surprised to see her actually hug Ronan. He doesn’t put her in a headlock, but instead gives one gentle caress to her hair before telling her fondly that she sucks.

Gansey wraps an arm around Adam’s shoulders as he leads them to the door.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says. “And I do want my wine glasses back.”

Adam laughs. “I’ll put the in a box for you. I doubt we’ll be needing them anytime soon.”

Gansey frowns. “And here I thought I was going to be invited to _your_ housewarming.”

“Not happening,” Ronan replies as he pushes his way past the other two to get to his car.

“Also, do yourself a favor,” Gansey says once Ronan is out of earshot. “Try talking to each other. Like actual human beings.”

“Gansey.”

“I know, it’s none of my business if you guys are friends or not. But if you’re going to be living together, you might have a better time of it if you knew a bit about each other. Or actually got along.”

Adam passes a hand over his face. He’s tired, still depressed, and definitely a little drunk.

“We’ll see,” is the most commitment he is willing to give.

Gansey smiles and removes his arm from Adam’s shoulder. Adam then feels himself being tugged down into Blue’s arms for a warm hug. Adam wraps his arms around Blue and pulls her right off the ground for a quick, tight embrace.

“If you need to talk…” Blue starts. They share a knowing look and Adam nods before putting her down and letting her go.

Adam jogs to the BMW and hops into the front seat.

Ronan revs the engine dramatically and they shoot down the street before Adam has even fully closed the door.

They sit in comfortable silence during the car ride home, Adam enjoying the cool glass of the window pressed against his warm cheeks. He realizes he really is a light weight. Or maybe he just isn’t used to alcohol in his system.

Ronan is staring straight ahead on the road. He looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He looks relaxed.

“It’s a nice car,” Adam offers by way of conversation.

Ronan smiles. “It’s the best car.” His left hand passes down the wheel like a caress. “I might have to have a funeral if she ever dies on me.”

Adam can appreciate the sentiment. He’s worked on cars long enough to know how much they can mean to their owners.

They eventually pull into the parking lot. Ronan turns off the engine and turns to Adam.

“Well, at least he served your boxed wine.”

“Actually, he didn’t,” Adam sighs.

“Come again?”

“He served us a white. My wine was a red.”

Ronan stares at Adam for a heartbeat before erupting into deep throated laughter.

“Bet you five bucks it’s in his trash!”

“I would hope not! I spent twenty-five dollars on that.”

“You might as well have gone dumpster diving and told him to use your finds as hors d’oeuvres.”

Adam stares at Ronan in shock.

“I know,” Ronan says sympathetically, “One should never waste alcohol, no matter how shitty.”

With that, Ronan steps out of the car and makes his way to their apartment, leaving Adam with the cruel reminder that Gansey comes from a world miles above his own.

***

After dinner with Gansey and Blue, things seem to settle into a routine at the Parrish/Lynch household. That is to say, they barely cross paths. Adam leaves for classes before Ronan is out of bed. Ronan comes back from his studio usually around the time Adam is about the hit the sack. They communicate mostly by leaving food in the fridge for each other, almost like an unwritten agreement.

Adam is pleased to find Ronan himself is a competent cook. He can’t really say anything Ronan makes is healthy, but he often finds himself pleasantly surprised by the meatloaf and mash, quiche, or the bowl of homemade paella that waits for him in the fridge in a Tupperware with his name on it. The leftovers almost become their way of conversing, each always repaying the other in kind with something tasty and filling.

Only on weekends do the two boys ever end up in the same room together, and usually only briefly as Adam still takes shifts at the garage and Ronan is still prone to disappearing at all hours to who-knows-where. They watch television together, or Ronan watches television while Adam studies. Sometimes they’ll play Overwatch for an hour before Adam must leave for a shift or Ronan jumps up cussing and darts out the door without further explanation.

Ronan is also regularly absent on Sunday mornings. In fact, it was a Sunday when Adam was heading to the bathroom to relieve himself near the crack of dawn where he caught Ronan throwing on a suit jacket as he rushed out the door. Adam was still partly convinced he had dreamed the entire thing, as Ronan wearing a suit didn’t seem to compute.

It is on a Saturday evening in late September that the routine gets broken.

Adam comes home from the library, tired, hungry, and feeling a headache starting. The last thing he expected when he opened the apartment door was a stranger leaning against the back of his couch waiting for him.

“Well well! Who’s the little mouse, Lynch?” the man says as Adam steps inside.

Something about the man’s smile, or posture, or mere existence, puts Adam in a fouler mood. He is wearing white Ray Bans _indoors_. He has his baseball cap on _backwards_. His pants are hanging _too fucking low_ on his hips. His skin looks _sickly and sweaty_. His waist is _too narrow_.

A part of Adam knows his assessment is irrational, but Adam has learned how to judge people as a survival tactic. And this weirdo in his apartment was setting off all his danger signals. On instinct, his hand shifts, palming his keys so that their jagged point pokes between his knuckles. Adam doesn’t think he is going to have to throw a punch, but something about the man makes him edgy enough to be prepared.

“Ignore him,” Ronan growls from the kitchen. He quickly makes his way to the front door and nods to the stranger to follow him out.

“Now now, Lynch, don’t be rude,” the man purrs, taking a step towards Adam. A warning flashes in Ronan’s eyes, but he doesn’t move to stop him. “Are you Dick’s replacement?”

It takes Adam a moment to realize the man is referring to Gansey by his least favourite nickname, even though the hate for Gansey is clear in his voice.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ronan gasps impatiently. “Adam Parrish, Joseph Kavinsky. Kavinsky, Parrish. There, you have been introduced, now let’s fucking go!”

“Adam Parrish,” Kavinsky rolls the name around his tongue, savouring it like something aromatic and exotic. He continues to ignore Ronan motioning him out the door. “Fuck, everything about you just screams _innocent_.”

Adam grits his teeth, but decides he is better to not engage.

“Lynch, you should invite the mouse out to play,” Kavinsky teases with a queasy grin. “He’s fucking adorable.”

“Careful, K,” Ronan warns, matching Kavinsky’s smile with one just as dangerous.

“Oh? Does this little mouse bite?”

Adam narrows his eyes to slits. He stares down Kavinsky, his glare stating all his mouth isn’t.

_I won’t take your bait. But I won’t be walked over._

Kavinsky suddenly lets out a barking laugh.

“Fuck, Lynch. I think I might have pissed him off.”

“You piss everyone off. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Ronan shoves Kavinsky through the door. Before he closes it behind them, he gives Adam an apologetic look over his shoulder.

Adam feels a wave of relief now that they have left. He still knows little about Ronan Lynch, but he is quite sure Joseph Kavinsky is the kind of person from whom you should hide your children.

Something about the way Ronan was trying to get his guest out the door the moment Adam walked in doesn’t sit right with Adam. He knows he should mind his own business, but Adam has survived this long by trusting his instincts and his instincts are telling him that Kavinsky is only going to be a dark cloud in his life.

Adam pulls out his cell and presses Gansey’s number on speed dial. It only rings twice before he hears the soothing familiar voice of his best friend.

“Hey, Adam. How are you this fine evening?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Sorry to hear that. What’s happened?”

“Who is Joseph Kavinsky?”

There is a hiss on the other end that may very well have been the word _shit,_ but Adam is pretty sure Gansey doesn’t swear.

“I take it you’ve heard of him,” Adam deadpans.

“Kavinsky is… a long story.”

“Well, considering he was just in my apartment, I think I have a right to know.”

Gansey groans. Adam is unsure if it is in response to Kavinsky having been in the apartment or to the fact that Adam is going to make Gansey explain.

“Look. Ronan went through a bad phase when his father died,” Gansey starts slowly. “He got involved with a bad crowd. Started doing some dumb things.”

The fact that Ronan’s father was deceased was news to Adam, but he hides his surprise with a question.

“Dumb how?”

“Drag racing. Drinking. Drugs.”

Adam is taken aback. Having seen Ronan’s car, he could believe the first one on that list, but the other two are a bit harder to swallow.

Unexpectedly Gansey’s dinner party is painted in another light. One glass of wine for Ronan. The rest cups of ginger ale. Adam had thought Gansey was trying to be a good host by fetching all their refills, but now the behaviour could be interpreted as Gansey not allowing Ronan to fetch his own refills in case he was tempted to select the alcoholic option.

And of course the final word of Gansey’s list hits Adam hard with anxiety. The last thing Adam needs is drugs in his home. It would be enough to get him expelled from med school.

“And has he since been clean?” Adam asks.

“As far as I know,” Gansey replies hesitantly. “He was in rehab for two years. Part of his deal in getting out was living with me.”

“You were his babysitter?”

Gansey laughs. “Sort of. He couldn’t be alone. Not after the suicide attempt.”

“What?!”

Gansey pauses on the other line.

“That does not get repeated,” Gansey says in his dad voice.

“Ronan attempted suicide?” Adam is still reeling at that news. Then his eidetic memory shifts to that pale arm holding the steering wheel, the leather bracelets, the pink skin hidden beneath.

_Scars._

“I told you, his dad passing hit him hard. They were really close. And seriously, this does not get repeated.”

“I won’t,” Adam promises, feeling himself collapse onto the couch. It’s a lot to take in about a man he has been living with for almost a month.

“Anyway, Ronan had a choice: live with me or live with his brother. He picked me.”

Adam’s mind continues to race, putting the pieces together.

“Is that why you were so desperate for me to move in? To take over watching him?”

Adam knows his voice sounds angry, but he does not like being used.

“No!” Gansey says quickly. “Of course not, I promise. He was doing so well.”

“But?”

“Kavinsky,” sighs Gansey. “He shouldn’t even be in the picture anymore.”

Adam can pretty much figure out the rest.

“What do you want me to do?” Adam asks.

“I don’t know. Kavinsky is a monster. Just bad news. Ronan should know better.”

“Addiction is never that easy,” Adam chides.

“Look, I trust Ronan,” Gansey begins, but Adam can already tell where this is going. “But if you could just watch out for him…”

Adam lets out a long breath. He doesn’t have the time to babysit his angsty roommate. A part of him hates Gansey for asking. A part of him loves Gansey for caring.

“I’m sorry to put this on you,” Gansey adds, his voice full of remorse. “Ronan is… like family. So if you think something is up, if you could just call me? Maybe make sure Ronan doesn’t do something Darwin levels of stupid?”

Adam chews his lip.

“Okay.”

Because who is Adam kidding? He could never refuse Gansey.

“Have I ever told you how you are the most amazing person I know?” Gansey coons.

“Don’t push it,” Adam says, but smiles despite himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I will try to update somewhat regularly (life goals: at least once per week).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild mentions of suicide and abuse.  
> Still Unbeta'd

Adam feels the sharp point against the top of his head three times before his sleepy mind decides it’s appropriate to wave the pointy object away. The tapping stops for two heartbeats before the jarring pain hits him again.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Adam groans, lifts his head, and finds himself staring into two intelligent, beady, black eyes.

“What the-” he gasps as he sits up. He realizes he fell asleep on the couch in the living room instead of his own bedroom, his pharmacology notes spread in disarray around him and the coffee table.

He turns to the arm rest and sees a large black raven staring at him inquisitively.

“Chainsaw,” he moans as he rubs a hand across his eyes. He doesn’t understand why she is out of Ronan’s room.

Adam yawns and looks at his watch.

_Jesus Christ, it’s 6am?_

Adam figures Ronan must not have closed his door properly for his precocious pet bird to be out and about at this time of morning, until he hears the bathroom door open and the man in question comes out of it.

Ronan freezes when he sees Adam sitting up in the couch and they stare at each other.

Ronan is staring because he didn’t expect to see Adam.

Adam is staring because Ronan is wearing a pressed white dress shirt and a _tie_.

“I’m dreaming again,” Adam mumbles, causing Ronan to roll his eyes.

“Go back to bed, Parrish, you need your beauty sleep.”

Ronan makes his way around the couch and whistles sharply at Chainsaw. The bird immediately hops off the armrest and with two strong flaps of her wings glides to perch herself on Ronan’s shoulder. Adam watches as Ronan’s pale long fingers gently brush the ebony feathers of Chainsaw’s head and neck with utmost gentleness and affection.

Adam gets off the couch and stretches himself, wincing as he hears his joints crack. Ronan smirks.

“That’s what you get for sleeping on that awful couch,” Ronan coos.

“If you cared so much, you could have woken me up last night to move me to my bed,” Adam retorts angrily.

“I thought _you_ were the mom in this relationship?”

Adam snorts and watches Ronan pad into his bedroom with his bird. A moment later he walks out with his suit jacket in hand and sans bird. Ronan pulls the jacket onto his broad shoulders and starts straightening the cuffs. Adam can’t help but stare transfixed. Ronan Lynch. In a suit an tie.

“Don’t tell me you have a _benefit_?” Adam teases.

“Yes, because rich people like to host their stupid shindigs at 6 am on a Sunday morning,” Ronan grumbles back sarcastically.

Then it hits Adam, his brain finally putting the pieces together.

“Wait. Are you going to church?” Adam asks.

“Got a problem with that?” Ronan spits back as he pulls polished black shoes from the coat cupboard.

“No.” Adam says. “You just never really struck me as the religious type.”

“I’m full of surprises, Parrish.” Ronan flashes Adam a wicked grin, all teeth and menace.

In a way, it makes sense. Ronan was in rehab and the AA program is heavily religious. Adam bites his tongue before me makes a comment that would give away how much Gansey has divulged.

“Which church?” Adam asks, the curiosity eating away at him.

“Roman Catholic. Can’t you tell? I’m Irish as fuck.” Ronan replies as he ties his laces.

“Do you actually believe in God, or is it more a community thing?”

“Do _you_ believe in God?” Ronan spits back.

“No.”

Adam says the word with such fierce finality, Ronan blinks back in surprise.

“Well I do,” he finally quips. Adam grimaces and feels his cheeks heat up.

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Adam explains, still feeling his exhaustion in his bones.

“It’s fine.”

Ronan pats himself down, looking for his keys. He eventually digs them out of his usual leather jacket in the cupboard and quickly tosses them up in the air and catches them. He then takes a step towards the door to leave before he suddenly freezes.

“Did you want to come?” Ronan asks, his back to Adam.

Adam nearly topples over. Not in a million years would he have expected Ronan Lynch to invite him to church.

“Not really my cup of tea,” Adam declines politely. Ronan turns slowly, to lay his eyes on Adam.

“Church or religion in general?” Ronan asks.

“All of the above.”

Ronan nods in understanding once, and then disappears through the door.

***

“And then John nearly fell off the roof!”

The voice is loud and unfamiliar and it startles Adam out of his study haze. He closes his textbook and rises from his desk. It’s just after lunch and he was not expecting anyone, which makes him nervous.

He walks to his bedroom door and opens it a crack to peer at the people standing on the precipice of his apartment’s entrance.

He is surprised to see three figures: one familiar, tall and dark, tugging loose his tie in desperation. One slightly shorter and squat, head adorned of golden curls. One in the middle, plain and straight backed, eyes locked on the phone in his hand.

“What were you even doing on the roof?” Ronan asks as he kicks off his shoes.

“Getting the frisbee, obviously,” says the blonde. He is bubbling with energy. “We didn’t expect to find the blow-up doll. Must have been a prank from ages ago.”

“Hilarious” the middle sized one says, not even looking up.

“Declan’s just mad because he’s been missing that doll since freshman year,” Ronan teases. The middle one looks up from his phone to shoot Ronan a glare. Ronan returns it with the finger. The blonde boy laughs.

“Uh, hi,” Adam squeaks as he edges open his door fully. In perfect sync, the three young men turn to stare at him. They all have a single trait in common: bright blue eyes.

“You must be Adam,” the middle one says and he takes four confident strides to close the distance and offer Adam his hand. “Declan Lynch.”

“Are you Ronan’s brother?” Adam deduces, taking his hand. Declan’s handshake is firm and sure, but a bit more aggressive than the confident way Gansey shakes hands.

“That’s right,” he says with a smile. “Gansey has assured me Ronan is in good company.”

Something in Adam bristles at that. As if he needed this stranger’s approval. As if he needed Gansey to vouch for him…

“I’m Matthew!” the blonde boy jumps in, waving at Adam.

“He’s adopted,” Ronan says with a straight face.

“Am not!” Matthew bites back. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because how else do you explain your blonde hair?” Ronan asks pointing to the dark heads of himself and Declan in turn.

“Mom is blonde,” Matthew argues.

“We adopted mom too,” Ronan explains.

Adam cracks a smile. Declan rolls his eyes.

“Okay, Matt, time to go,” the eldest Lynch brother declares. Matthew almost visibly deflates, but he gives Ronan a tight squeeze.

“See you next week,” Ronan says, smiling warmly at the boy with the cherub face.

Adam notes that Declan heads back to the exit without making any attempt to offer Ronan physical affection. Instead he leans close and whispers, “Appointment on Thursday with Dr. Parolly.”

“I know,” Ronan growls back with clenched teeth.

“You better. If you miss another one, they’re going to ask for a urine sample.”

Ronan nervously looks up at Adam and then back to Declan.

“I know. Just leave already.”

Ronan almost pushes his older brother out the door, before slamming it closed behind him.

“Douchebag,” Ronan mumbles under his breath.

“They seem nice,” Adam counters.

“You would be fifty percent right,” Ronan replies, pushing himself off the door. “You want a pizza pocket?” he asks. Adam shakes his head.

“How was church?” he asks instead, taking a seat at the little kitchen table.

“Enlightening,”

Adam snorts. It’s like Ronan can’t go thirty seconds without being snarky.

“Do you even really care?” Ronan asks as he plops his lunch onto a plate and stuffs it in the microwave.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” Adam says innocently.

“You aren’t very good at it,” Ronan retorts.

“Neither are you.”

“Touche.”

Ronan pulls the other kitchen chair and turns it backwards to straddle it facing Adam. They sit in silence for a bit, the only sound the hum of the microwave.

“So are you an atheist because of the whole science thing?” Ronan finally asks, picking lint off his dress shirt. The question surprises Adam. He didn’t think Ronan would want to continue that conversation. But it seems all his assumptions of Ronan have been way off the mark.

“More like I’ve seen too much bad shit to buy into some omnipotent, benevolent being running the show,” Adam explains.

“Yeah right,” Ronan says. Something in Adam, dark and cold, curls in his throat.

“Excuse me?” Adam hisses venomously.

Ronan finally looks up at Adam and seems shocked by the rage planted on his face.

“You don’t seem the type…” Ronan tries to be diplomatic.

“What type?” Adam pushes, his eyes slits.

“The ‘I had a terrible childhood’ type,” Ronan finishes with a glare of his own.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Adam’s voice is dangerously low.

“And you know too much about me,” Ronan says meaningfully. Adam’s rage is suddenly shattered with a feeling of guilt and he is compelled to look away from the other man. Ronan is right; Gansey had revealed his darker secrets to Adam not long ago. But he didn’t know Ronan was aware of it.

“Oh let’s cut the crap,” Ronan says, his temper flaring at the look of pity Adam is trying to hide. “I know Dick blabbed it all to you. What, you wanna see?” and Ronan pulls down his left shirt sleeve, pushing the leather bracelets down with it and waves his forearm in front of Adam’s face. The scars are ragged and harsh against the milky white of his skin.

“Stop,” Adam says, pushing Ronan’s arm away from his face. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ronan snarls, his fist hitting the table violently in his anger. Adam flinches, his hands coming up out of instinct to protect his face. Ronan stares at Adam with his mouth partially open as Adam makes himself small in his chair.

“Christ, Parrish, I’m not going to hit you,” Ronan says, flabbergasted. Adam’s heart is beating too fast and he can feel the sweat now on his brow. He can feel the walls closing in, coming with the memories of someone else’s fist slamming against the table, against the wall, against his face…

Adam closes his eyes and swallows. He tries reciting the mantra to bring himself back to the present.

_I am free of my father. I am free of my mother. I am free of Henrietta._

Ronan watches Adam with sharp eyes as he takes several deep breaths.

“I guess your scars just aren’t on your skin,” Ronan whispers, his eyes darting down to his arm.

“Oh, my father left a fair share on my skin too,” Adam replies viciously.

Ronan frowns, his lips pursed tight together, like he’s struggling to hold something in. Or spit something out.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Ronan finally says, the closest thing to an apology Adam is going to get.

The microwave timer suddenly beeps, breaking the tension in the room.

Ronan rises from his seat, retrieves his pizza pockets, and silently disappears behind his bedroom door.

***

An awkwardness looms around the two boys over the weeks that follow. The cat is out of the bag, so to speak. Ronan knows Adam knows about the suicide attempt, the booze, the drugs, and the drag racing. It’s the elephant in the room when Ronan leaves the apartment Thursday afternoon to meet Dr. Parolly. And Ronan knows something bad has happened to Adam. The details are still not clear, but it’s obvious it involved violence and Adam’s father. But they don’t talk more of it. They don’t talk much at all these days. But in those fleeting instants they cross paths, Adam always feels Ronan’s gaze boring into him when he isn’t looking. Sometimes, if Adam is lucky, he catches Ronan staring. Adam can’t really call it pity, but there’s _something_ behind Ronan’s eyes every time he looks at him. Something that angers and confuses Adam. He doesn’t want to be treated different because his father had abused him. He doesn’t want Ronan walking on eggshells, as if the slightest sound or movement will cause Adam to flight.

The only solace Adam has is that Ronan still leaves him leftovers with his name on it. So Adam does so in kind. It’s the one part of their arrangement that doesn’t seem awkward or forced. The one thing that hasn’t changed.  
  
Cold November air causes Adam to tuck his hands under his armpits. He had finally invested in a proper winter jacket in sophomore year, but naturally he hadn’t brought it today. He also hadn’t expected to be on campus past sunset, but he still kicks himself for not having had the foresight. He makes his way through the icy sidewalks to the lot where he had parked the Hondayota.

He quickly hops into the front seat and turns on the ignition, only to hear the car cough and sputter before dying.

“No…” Adam begs the car, and tries turning the key again. Then engine howls and spits and nothing. His car of mismatched pieces and parts had been going downhill for years. Adam had kept telling himself to lift the hood and give it a once over, but life always gets in the way.

Not only would Adam have to get a tow ( _How much is that going to cost me?_ ), but he has no way of getting home that would take less than 1.5 hours.

Adam pulls out his phone and calls Gansey.

“You’ve reached Gansey, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message and a contact number and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you!”

Adam curses under his breath and then tries Blue.

“Yo, do the thing after the beep.”

“Seriously?” he says to his phone as he hangs up instead of leaving a message. Adam drums his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to think of what he could do aside wait for a bus in the cold for an hour.

_I could call Caitlin…_

Adam shakes his head. They’ve barely spoken since the awful breakup and although he knows she is kind enough to probably fetch him, he does not want to take advantage of her, especially when he was the one who took her for granted for so long.

_Maybe Ronan will rescue me…_

Adam hesitates as the thought gestates. He’s not even sure it would be appropriate to call Ronan. They aren’t that close. They barely speak anymore. But he is cold and desperate and what’s the worse that could happen? Ronan tell him to fuck off?

Adam goes through his phone and realizes the one fatal flaw in his plan: he doesn’t have Ronan’s number.

Adam curses himself again, thinking how stupid he is for neglecting to exchange phone numbers with his own roommate. But then Adam realizes he has never even seen a phone in Ronan’s hands.

Adam huffs out a cloud of cold air. His fingers are starting to go numb and he is hungry and tired. He is always hungry and tired. It has become the natural state of his existence.

_Maybe he’s on campus…_

Adam doesn’t quite know Ronan’s schedule, but he usually comes home around 8pm on most nights. Adam assumes Ronan is at the studio working on unfinished pieces, especially with the paint stains and smell of turpentine he brings back with him, but Adam has never been sure.

_The Carpenter Centre is just a five minute walk._

His brain has a point, and he figures the worse that could happen is he finds the doors locked.

Adam climbs out of the car and scurries towards the general direction of the building. His teeth quickly start chattering and he speeds up his pace. He climbs the curving ramp up to the main doors and sighs dejectedly when he sees all the lights inside are off. On the door, the sign clearly states opening hours are until 6pm.

Adam turns on the spot and blows on his hands.

_Looks like I’m stuck with the bus after all._

He makes his way back down the ramp and heads towards Broadway when a familiar voice calls his name.

“Parrish?”

Adam stops and turns around. Behind him in a black beanie and his leather jacket is the one and only Ronan Lynch. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are red from the bite of cold, making him look almost childish. Almost.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asks.

“Looking for you,” Adam says with a sigh of relief. “My car won’t start, can I bum a lift?”

Ronan looks at Adam like he grew and extra nose.

“Told you that thing was a shit box,” Ronan says with a shake of his head. Adam frowns.

“Are you gonna drive me home or not?” he asks. He is too cold and too hungry to put up with Ronan’s shit.

“Calm your tits. I’ll take you home,” Ronan sighs. “I just need to grab something from the studio.” Ronan nods his head, indicating Adam to follow.

They detour back to the Carpenter Centre, but Ronan leads him around to a back entrance. He has his own key card and he holds the door open for Adam.

The bowels of the Carpenter Centre seem to still be active. Lights are on and noise can be heard: music coming from behind doors, the occasional cuss, and the sounds of power tools.

“Why hasn’t anyone gone home?” Adam asks, walking past an open door where a young woman with rainbow hair is power sanding a large piece of wood.

“Artists work when they’re _inspired_ ,” Ronan says mockingly. “They don’t subscribe to the nine to five schedule. Over here.”

He stops in front of a nondescript door and pulls out another key. He opens it and holds it ajar for Adam to enter.

“Don’t touch anything,” he warns. Adam steps inside the dark room and Ronan strikes the switch. The lights come on with a blare, causing Adam to blink. When his vision settles, he bites back the gasp that tries to leave his lips.

Ronan’s studio room isn’t particularly large or dramatic. But on every surface, on every inch, there is art. His art. Large canvases of elaborate sceneries, small canvases of abstract shapes and swirls. There are charcoal sketches of young boys playing soccer, of lovers in an embrace, of a scroungy dog, of Chainsaw. There are chalky pastels of bowls of fruit and a naked, hunched figure crying into his hands. And of course there are forests. It appears Ronan’s favourite subject are trees and moss and flowers. Canvas after canvas of forests so beautiful they must be mythical are scattered about the room. There are forests barren and covered in snow. There are coniferous forests with grazing elk, and rain forests with colorful birds. Every inch of the studio is covered with the colors of Ronan’s mind and it leaves Adam breathless.

Without pre-amble, Ronan saunters over to a desk and grabs a pile of papers. He folds them and shoves them into his jacket.

“Okay, we’re good, let’s go.”

Adam is too hypnotized to move.

“Did you do all of these?” he asks, walking over to forest with a fairy circle of red-capped mushrooms in the middle.

Ronan sucks through his teeth. “Maybe.”

“They’re amazing.”

Adam walks the tour, giving each piece the attention it deserves.

“Well, they don’t really let shitty artists into Harvard,” Ronan explains. Adam gives Ronan an unimpressed look before he kneels in front of a piece on the ground. It is the charcoal drawing of the lovers, but from this close, Adam realizes the lovers are both male. And yet somehow that makes the picture even more intimate.

Adam stands up and makes his way to the next piece: a field of roses with a woman with blonde hair staring up at the sun.

The next one is of a large barn at night surrounded by fields and trees, fireflies alight in the air.

The pictures are all so different, but also so soft, depicting scenes that are beautiful. Even the darker ones, or frost and cold, of naked, crooked trees, highlight the beauty that can be found in death.

“They’re amazing, Lynch.” Adam turns to Ronan, looks him in the eyes. “Really.”

Adam is not sure if he imagines the blush that starts heating Ronan’s cheeks, but before he can look closer, Ronan is heading determinedly for the door.

“Shows over, let’s go,” he growls.

“Learn to take a compliment,” Adam grumbles under his breath, but follows his roommate out.

The car ride home is in silence, and this time it is a bit awkward. Adam feels he may have trespassed on a part of Ronan meant to be private by seeing his studio. Then again, if Ronan was so against him seeing it, he could have made Adam wait in the hall (or even in the cold if he was feeling particularly mean).

He almost feels like a jerk, having partially assumed Ronan’s art would be chaotic and angry and dark. But his art was so peaceful and gentle and warm. There was love painted in every stroke, and it had moved Adam in a way he didn’t think possible. He didn’t think an angry bastard like Ronan could have such softness inside him. Perhaps it was only capable of coming out in his art. Perhaps it was what Gansey had always seen in him.

Adam sneaks a glance at Ronan and is startled to find Ronan quickly shifting his eyes away from him and back onto the road. Adam watches Ronan for several seconds, and swears the flush on his cheeks is real.

_Why?_

It’s the question that burns Adam every moment he sees Ronan. Every time he catches Ronan looking away. Every time there is something left for him in the fridge (Adam doesn’t even know when Ronan has the time to cook).

Ronan switches on the radio. Adam braces himself for the horrible EDM, but instead hears the gentle harmony of a Celtic folksong.

“Really?” Adam says, with a teasing smile.

Ronan’s cheeks flush deeper and he quickly flips the music off.

“No!” Adam says, and reaches over the console to turn the music back on. “I like it.”

Ronan glances quickly at him, but doesn’t argue and leaves the music on. Adam reaches his hands out to the heater, his legs jumping in place to generate warmth.

A small smile touches the corner of Ronan’s lips and he reaches over again, this time to turn up the heat.

“Thanks…” Adam murmurs awkwardly.

“For the record, you’re still the mom,” Ronan says. Adam is relieved. It wouldn’t be natural for Ronan to go a whole ten minutes without saying something snarky.

“Does that make you the dad?”

Ronan laughs.

“Only if I can tell terrible jokes.”

“You wouldn’t.-”

“I had a dream I was muffler last night,” Ronan interrupts, his face serious. Adam blinks.

“What?”

“I woke up exhausted.”

Ronan pauses, directing a smirk out the windshield.

“I hate you,” Adam says, his smile growing by the second.

“What did the buffalo say to his son when he dropped him off at school.”

“Please don’t.”

“Bison.”

The laughter bubbles out of Adam. “Terrible!”

“I have a math one,” Ronan offers.

“The _artist_ has a math joke?”

“I’d have you know I got a C in math,” Ronan says with false indignity. Adam laughs again.

“All right, let’s hear it.”

“The fattest knight sitting at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference. He got that size from eating too much _pi_.”

“Oh God. I bet Gansey would love that one.”

“Who do you think told it to me?”

Adam laughs again. It feels nice. He realizes he hasn’t laughed in a long time.

“Thanks,” Adam says, staring at his fingers, his smile still stretching his lips.

“Come on, Parrish, we live at the same address. It’s not really out of my way.”

Adam realizes he didn’t mean the lift, but keeps that to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh yeah, the feelings are starting to happen. Next chapter will be a tiny bit smutty (in all the best, awkward ways).  
> Thanks for reading! The comments are inspiring, much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: masturbation, immature conversation, unhealthy dinners, mentions of drug use.
> 
> Unbeta'd

Gansey pulls up in front of the apartment in his loud car. Loud as in literally loud: the engine roaring, demanding attention and praise. And loud as in colour choice: being jarringly orange and glinting in the late autumn afternoon sun.

“Thanks for the lift,” Adam says.

It pains him that the Hondayota is still in the shop. And will remain so until Adam scrounges up $500 for repairs. Which means it will be there for a very long time.

“Oh please! This car owes you its life like twenty times over. I actually don’t even think I’m exaggerating.”

“Twenty-six to be exact.”

“You’re counting?”

“Of course. You’re a Gansey. I need you in my pocket for when I get myself into this big medical malpractice scandal and the army of Gansey lawyers are the only ones who can save me.”

Gansey tosses his head back and laughs with his whole being.

“Whatever you need, Parrish.”

“Wow, that was too easy. You really love this damn car,” Adam says bemused.

“I do,” Gansey replies, like he’s confessing his deepest secret. He pats the dashboard affectionately.

“What if Blue told you to get rid of it?”

Gansey swings his head to look at Adam with an open-mouthed expression of horror.

“Adam Parrish, you take that back!” he spits like an offended mother hen.

“But like what if she says, ‘The only way to prove your love for me is to send the Pig to the junkyard’?”

“Out! Out villain!” Gansey snaps, reaching over Adam to shove open the passenger door. Adam laughs and hops out of the car.

The sun beats down on him and he takes a moment to soak it in as Gansey drives away. He’s usually stuck in another 4 hours of lecture during this time of day, but since there was an exam that morning, afternoon classes got canceled. And Adam is riding high, feeling he aced that exam with flying colours.

He takes the apartment stairs two at a time. Strangely his mind is running through all the groceries in the house. He is going to cook up a storm to treat himself. Ronan is going to bust a nut trying to one up him after tonight.

With a smile on his freckled cheeks, he quickly unlocks his door and throws it open. He kicks off his shoes and heads towards his room to drop off his bag. On the way, he notices Ronan’s bedroom door is open. He decides to poke his head in to see if Ronan has any requests for dinner. The scene Adam sees is the last thing he expects, and it roots him to the ground.

It’s Ronan, stretched languidly on his twin bed, his head resting on a pillow, face pointed to the ceiling. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted. His black tank is rucked up to his ribs, revealing a line of tense washboard abs. There is a light sheen of sweat on his skin, a single drop running down his neck and pooling in the notch between his clavicles. From his navel descends a faint trail of black hairs teasing the eyes down, down, to the open fly of his jeans, to the loose black briefs visible and bulging. Bulging because Ronan’s right hand is tucked inside them, palming himself.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Adam thinks, sweat starting to prickle on his temples.

Because Ronan’s hand is moving. His strokes are slow and purposeful. His breathing is irregular, each breath a tight, intense puff of air.

Ronan lifts his left arm and pressed it over his eyes, his jaw clenching in a grimace. Even from the distance, Adam can clearly see Ronan’s pulse beating fiercely in his neck. The ripple of muscles on Ronan’s stomach is contacting rhythmically with his strokes.

Adam is transfixed, his mouth going dry. Ronan pumps himself, his hips making the tiniest jerking motions up into his hand, the muscles in his forearm like tight chords contracting beneath his skin.

Ronan is obscene. He is transcendent. He suddenly lets out a moan from between his clenched teeth that startles Adam into sucking in a breath. The gasp Adam makes is less than a whisper, but it is enough. Ronan drops his arm from his face and tilts his neck up to see Adam standing in the doorway.

Their eyes lock and both men go completely still: Ronan’s hand remains in his briefs, immobile, while Adam is frozen to the spot, not breathing.

Adam, who can never silence his thoughts, whose brain’s incessant whispering makes him cynical and cautious and _othered_ , finds his mind completely blank. He is lost in Ronan’s ice blue eyes. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to do, how he is supposed to react. He has been caught spying on Ronan fucking Lynch masturbating and he is just still and feels too hot and too cramped and suddenly _afraid_. They stare and stare for a minute, an hour, a lifetime. Adam is existing in molasses and it is going to give him a panic attack.

And Ronan, who should be embarrassed, or angry, or surprised, decides to do the last thing Adam expects from him. With their eyes still locked on each other, an ocean drowning in ice, Ronan’s hand starts moving again.

He is staring at Adam, drinking him in, while he continues to jerk off. Something insidious curls at the base of Adam’s spine as Ronan finally breaks eye contact to let his eyes roam up and down Adam’s body, as his hand picks up speed. Ronan’s eyes linger a moment on Adam’s hands, clenching and unclenching at Adam’s sides, before going back up to Adam’s face.

Their eyes lock again, and Adam’s traitorous tongue licks his lips in a desperate attempt to get some moisture in and around his mouth. The gesture is innocent, but it makes Ronan throw his head back against his pillow and moan loudly.

Adam runs.

He darts into his bedroom and closes the door behind him. The sprint took literally half a second, but he finds himself completely out of breath, sweat dripping down his neck, his head dangling between his knees as he sucks in big, desperate breaths. His body is drumming with adrenaline and he doesn’t understand why.

Adam closes his eyes, trying to steady his pulse. All he can see behind his lids is Ronan. Ronan, staring at him like there is nothing else in the entire world to look at. Ronan, lost in the feel of his own hand in between his thighs. _Ronan_.

Adam stands up straight and lets his head fall back against the door, opening his eyes and focusing on the clutter on his desk. His sweat is cooling uncomfortably on his skin making him feel chill and too hot all at once. He needs to process what just happened. He needs his brain to reboot already.

 _Deep breaths_.

Adam inhales and blows the air slowly from his mouth. He is starting to feel like he is settling back into his body again. That is a good sign. A good place to start.

_Okay. Now think._

It was an accident, really. Ronan had been doing something very personal with his freaking door open, so Adam really isn’t to blame. But then again, he could have turned around to give Ronan privacy. He could have coughed to let Ronan know he was there. He could have done anything but just stare.

That’s a lie. He didn’t have a choice. His body had gone on autopilot. Maybe it was shock. Whatever the reason, Adam couldn’t have moved. Because everything about Ronan in that moment was hypnotizing.

Objectively, Ronan is a very good-looking person. Adam had been able to admit that to himself the day they met. And it is bleeding unfair that aside from perfect bone structure and a face worthy of modeling, Ronan also is blessed with the body of a freaking Greek god that he keeps hidden beneath his unending supply of wife beaters.

In Adam’s defence, even a eunuch would have had trouble looking away at that scene. But not looking away will have repercussions, that’s for sure.

How is Adam supposed to act the next time he is in a room with Ronan, after being exposed to something so intimate without an invitation? Should he joke about it? Pretend it never happened? Confront Ronan on the fact that he was _clearly_ eye-fucking Adam while he hand-fucked himself?

That last part was definitely unexpected.

Adam tries to rationalize it, because that is what Adam does. Maybe Ronan was just trying to shock him as an amusing prank. Maybe Ronan was imagining Adam was someone else. Maybe Ronan hates Adam and was trying to make Adam feel as uncomfortable as possible so he would move out. Or maybe…maybe…

_Maybe Ronan wants me._

The last thought is ludicrous. Or is it? Because, thanks to his cursed eidetic memory, Adam can recall exactly the expression on Ronan’s face as he stares, as his pupil-blown eyes track Adam up and down. There is no denying it: it wasn’t angry, or vengeful, or disgusted. It was hungry. It was lustful.

It’s impossible. Ronan has been nothing but antagonistic to Adam since he moved in. They barely talk. They have nothing in common. He’s a recovering addict, for crying out loud.

_But the way he had stared!_

Adam shakes his head, takes three steps, and collapses in a belly flop onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow.

It had been, without a doubt, the sexiest thing Adam had ever witnessed.

***

There comes a point when Adam realizes he can’t hide in his room from Ronan forever. At the very least, he’s going to have to leave to take a piss. The pressure on his bladder is getting painful and staring at the wall has lost its appeal.

Adam tentatively rises from his bed. He cracks the door open and peers around it. Ronan’s bedroom door is now closed and the apartment is completely still. Adam pads out of his room and heads to the bathroom, checking the closet on his way. Ronan’s leather jacket is gone.

_He probably went out._

The tension in Adam seeps away. He still hasn’t quite figured out how he is going to face Ronan, but at least he has some more time to think about it.

After relieving himself and splashing cold water on his face, Adam grabs an apple from the fridge. His leg shakes as he eats it, his body composed of an erratic energy fueled on worry.

He pulls out his phone and calls the one person he thinks will be able to provide some level advice.

“What’s up, Adam?” Blue answers on the second ring.

“Hey. Uh, you free?”

“Sure am. But Gansey will still be in class for another hour.”

Adam rolls his eyes. Something in him is annoyed by the idea that couples need to do everything together.

“It’s okay, it’s you I want to talk to,” he says.

“Sure. But you know my fee for a therapy session, right?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to say it.”

Adam smiles. “I’ll buy you a damn piece of cheesecake.”

“Not just any cheesecake.”

“I know I know. Meet at the bakery in ten?”

“Okay,” Blue says, and Adam can hear the pleasure in her voice.

***

“He was doing _what_ now??” Blue gasps loudly around a bite of blueberry cheesecake.

The bakery/café on the border of Cambridge and Boston is a favourite of Blue’s, even though all their treats are overpriced in Adam’s opinion. But he doesn’t mind splurging on Blue, who understands that the fact Adam is breaking his budget for Blue is an act of love in and of itself.

“He was jerking off,” Adam whispers, trying to get Blue to keep her voice down. He knows he must be three shades of red already. He is grateful the café is so quiet.

“Ugh, gross,” Blue says with a shudder.

Adam presses his lips shut. Gross was not the word that rang in his head at the memory. More like _Awkward._ Or _Unexpected._ Or _Hot-as-all-fucking-hell._

“Okay, so let me paint this picture,” Blue muses. “The Snake is getting himself hot and bothered while you are…” Blue trails off, giving Adam a pause to fill in the blank.

“I was going to ask him what he wanted for dinner-”

“Awwwww,” Blue coos.

“But I kinda got distracted,” Adam finishes lamely.

“Yes, I get that. But then what?”

“Then nothing. I was distracted.”

“Wait wait wait,” Blue says around another forkful of cake. “What do you mean ‘nothing’? You just stood there?”

“Yeah.”

“Watching him?”

“Yeah.”

“Adam Parrish, you kinky bastard!” she squeals with delight. Adam doesn’t think it is possible, but he feels his blush is darkening.

“What was I supposed to do?!” he pleas defensively.

“Uh, anything? Close his door. Yell at him to stop. Make a joke about the size of his dick. Anything but just stand there satisfying your voyeur kink!”

“Shhhhh!” Adam hisses desperately. Blue’s voice naturally carries, and her excited state is going to earn him unwanted stares.

“Don’t shush me! This is hilarious!”

Adam let’s his head fall against the table dramatically.

“Okay, so you’re watching Ronan go at it, and then?”

“He sees me.”

“Ha! And then?” Blue asks eagerly.

“He keeps going…”

At this point Blue breaks out into laughter.

“Exhibitionist kink! You two were made for each other!”

“This isn’t funny!” Adam growls. He is starting to regret this conversation, and throws his arms over his head as if to hide.

“This is definitely funny.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Adam asks, trying to get Blue back on track. He peeks out at her between his arms, his head still pillowed on the table.

“I don’t know. Offer him a cigarette?”

“Again. Not. Funny.”

Blue is still giggling. “Totally funny.”

“ARGH!”

Blue’s laughter finally dies down. Adam is still hiding under his arms.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” she chides. Adam doesn’t respond.

“Why don’t you come over? Hang out, have dinner with Gansey and me. Maybe get rip roaring drunk.”

“I can’t.”

“None of that. You had your exam this morning. You can take a day off from studying.”

“Won’t solve the ‘how do I face Ronan Lynch’ problem.”

“True. But no matter what you do or who you are, Ronan Lynch will still be a surly shit to you just for breathing in his presence, so what difference does it make that you caught him fiddling his happy stick?”

“Fiddling his happy stick?” Adams asks incredulously. “What are you, five?”

Blue sticks her tongue out at Adam. Adam smiles.

“All right. Stroke his dog? Shake hands with Abe Lincoln? Shine his pole?” Blue offers.

“Okay, you can stop now.”

“Milking his cucumber? Beating his bologna? Choking the chicken?”

“No, really, stop.”

Blue’s smile only widens.

“Crank the shank? Polish the family jewels? Pump the stump?”

“What do I have to do to make you stop?” Adam begs.

“Come over for dinner and stop being a baby.”

“Fine!”

***

Dinner involved two boxes of Mac n Cheese with hot dogs when it became apparent Gansey wasn’t going to be home on time. No Gansey meant no complaints about unbalanced nutrition, which meant eating like crap and not feeling bad about it. Better yet, Blue even found the box of wine Adam had brought to their housewarming two months ago hidden under the sink and covered with a used dish rag.

“We can’t drink a gallon of wine,” Adam had argued. Blue had opened it anyway.

They ended up sprawled on the couch, legs entwined, watching Game of Thrones equipped with popcorn and mugs of bad wine (Gansey never did grab his wine glasses).

“How many times do I need to see Khaleesi’s boobs?” Blue asks with a sigh.

“They’re nice boobs,” Adam argues.

“If the series ends without explaining Podric’s magic dick, I’m gonna be pissed,” Blue grumbles around a hiccup. Adam supresses a smile. Her small frame makes her particularly susceptible to alcohol.

“Ditto.”

The door opens and Gansey hurries in.

“Where were you?” Blue asks, throwing a kernel of popcorn at her beau’s head. “We didn’t save you any Mac n Cheese. Also, we’re drunk.”

Adam would hardly say he was _drunk_. Maybe a bit buzzed.

Gansey stares at the scene, the two friends hazy and lazing, with a frown on his face.

“Adam, when was the last time you saw Ronan?” Gansey asks, the worry clear in his voice. Adam gets a horrible sinking feeling.

“Not since you dropped me off at home earlier today.”

Adam doesn’t really want to tell Gansey about ‘the incident’ if he can avoid it.

“Dammit,” Gansey mumbles, his thumb kneading his lower lip.

“What’s wrong?” Blue asks, straightening on the couch. Both her and Adam know Gansey’s ticks, the thumb kneading the lip is never a good sign..

“He was supposed to meet me for dinner at seven. He never showed. He isn’t answering his phone.”

“He never answers his phone,” Blue grouses unimpressed.

“But he usually doesn’t stand me up either.”

Adam feels guilt weigh heavily in his stomach. He shares a look with Blue.

“What do you know?” Gansey asks, noticing the exchange.

“Adam and Ronan had a bit of a situation this afternoon,” Blue starts.

“Oh God, please tell me you aren’t fighting,” Gansey prays.

“No, nothing like that,” Adam says with a sigh. He looks to Blue for help, but her face is one of someone trying to suppress laughter. “Don’t start,” Adam begs.

“Okay, what am I missing?” Gansey asks the two.

“Adam walking in on Ronan…” Blue pauses to smile.

“What, ran out of euphemisms?” Adam scowls. Blue starts giggling.

“Guys, seriously, what is going on?”

“I walked in on Ronan masturbating,” Adam grumbles under his breath.

Gansey stares wide-eyed for a moment. Before bursting into laughter. It causes Blue to start laughing again too.

“Really?” Adam pleas, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, but that’s just…I mean it’s _Ronan_!” Gansey says between chuckles.

“Right?” Blue agrees.

“You both suck,” Adam pouts.

“That’s not even the best part,” Blue adds.

“Please don’t.”

“There’s more?” Gansey asks.

“Ronan saw Adam. And he kept going!”

Adam rubs his face. It sounds so much worse when Blue says it.

Gansey stands there suddenly very quietly, something unsettling on his face.

“What?” Blue asks when she realizes Gansey doesn’t find the punchline funny.

“Did he seem high?” Gansey asks Adam in all seriousness. Realization dawns on him.

“I… I don’t know,” Adam replies honestly. Gansey looks disappointed.

“The guy was in the middle of giving himself an orgasm,” Blue explains. “How do you tell the difference between that and being high as a kite?”

Gansey looks beseechingly to Adam, as if Adam can make sense of this ridiculous day.

“We need to find him,” Gansey says, worried.

“Why? You really think he’s using again?” Adam asks.

“Adam, Ronan is…” Gansey trails off. Adam suspects he is about to reveal another one of Ronan’s secrets.

“An idiot? An asshole? A big softie?” Blue provides. Gansey shakes his head.

“Fragile,” Gansey supplies with a sigh. Adam has a feeling that wasn’t what he was originally going to say.

The discussion is interrupted by a buzzing from Gansey’s pocket. Almost as if on fire, Gansey scrambles to pull his phone out of his khakis.

“It’s from Ronan!” Gansey gasps with relief, and taps the screen. The elation dissolves from his face almost instantly.

“What is it?” Blue asks. She leaps to her feet and darts around the couch to see the phone. “Oh shit.”

“What? What is it?” Adam asks, getting to his feet as well. Gansey turns the phone screen around and holds it up to Adam’s face to read:

_Fuck off, Dick. Lynch is busy tonight.  
-K_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you kind people and your supportive comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See how nice I am? A new chapter and it hasn't even been a week!  
> (I feel bad leaving things on cliffhangers too long)
> 
> Also, for the first time halfway through this chapter, have some Ronan POV!   
> (Why? Because I felt like it)
> 
> Tags/warnings: some dubious/non-con happens here. And drug use. Also lots of feelings. You have been warned.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Adam bursts into Ronan’s room, causing Chainsaw to scream from her cage. Adam ignores her and starts tearing the place apart, looking for a clue, anything, that could lead them to Ronan’s whereabouts.

The plan was Gansey and Blue were going to check Ronan’s favourite haunts from the Pig while Adam checked the apartment.

He didn’t know what he could possibly find. The more he searched, the more confused he was about what he was even looking for.

_Laptop,_ his brain suggests.

Adam goes to Ronan’s desk, flips open the laptop, and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds Ronan doesn’t have it password protected.

He opens Ronan’s email and finds nothing but newsletters from the Harvard Art Department.

He tries Facebook and is surprised to see Ronan doesn’t even have an account.

_Think, think, think._

Adam logs into his own FB account and searches “Joseph Kavinsky.” Nothing.

_Think, think, think._

Adam tries Twitter, then Google, and finally gets a hit with Instagram.

Kavinsky’s last post was only half an hour ago. It’s a selfie of himself, giving the finger, in front of what looks like a street filled with trashy bars. There is no caption on the image, but he’s hoping the picture can give him a clue. He Googles the only sign in the photo that is legible, a place called Eagle.

It’s in the Gay village. It will take at least 20 minutes to get there, but it’s the only lead they have. Adam has drunk too much wine to drive, not that it matters, his car isn’t functional anyway. He calls Gansey.

***

The press of hot bodies makes Adam uncomfortable. He doesn’t like being cramped. He doesn’t like having nowhere to disappear or hide in a room. It’s a remnant of his childhood, when hiding was all he could do to protect himself.

He also isn’t particularly fond of dance clubs. In his mind, the whole scenario is merely a preamble to casual sex. But more importantly, Adam Parrish is not a dancer. Add that to being pretty averse to alcohol (despite the day’s escapades), and being relatively antisocial, and there is no reason for a creature like Adam Parrish to be in a club.

Yet here he is. Not only that, but this is the third dance club Adam has frequented this chilly November evening. And he has yet to discover his tall, pale roommate or his obnoxious, drug-dealer acquaintance. Neither has Gansey nor Blue when they had agreed to split up to cover more ground. Boston is a big city, after all.

In a last-ditch effort, Adam shoves his way to the bathroom.

The bathroom is heavy with the scent of beer, urine, and cigarette smoke. The graffiti on the walls glow with the black light hidden in the ceiling, shadows dancing from within and beyond the stalls. Adam isn’t sure if he has drunk too much, but for some reason it feels like the darkness is pulsing with the beat of the bass coming from the dance floor.

Adam makes his way down the row of stalls, pushing each door to make sure it is vacant. He stops when he hears a voice. Raspy, dry, deep, murmuring so low that he can’t make out the words. Adam stands in front of the stall and pushes on the door. The door is locked.

Adam presses his ear against it, closing his eyes to desperately try to hear the voices.

“Fuck, Lynch, you are so good like this.”

Adam’s blood is suddenly ice. Without much thought, Adam kicks the door with all his strength. The lock, ancient and cheap, breaks easily and the door swings inward knocking hard into someone’s back.

“What the actual fuck!” Kavinsky yells as he turns himself to confront his antagonizer. Kavinsky pauses as his eyes fall on Adam.

“Parrish,” he hisses, like the name is an insult. Adam isn’t sure if he should be flattered or worried that Kavinsky even remembered him. He cranes his neck to see the second person in the stall, slightly obscured by Kavinsky’s lean frame.

Ronan’s head droops to the side, his eyelids closed, his body limp against the wall of the stall. Adam suspects the only thing keeping Ronan standing is Kavinsky’s arm that is snaked around his waist. His other arm seems to be occupied by slinking its way down the front of Ronan’s pants. Kavinsky’s own jeans already have their fly open. Adam doesn’t even want to think what kind of scene he would have walked in on had he arrived five minutes later.

“Ronan!” Adam snaps. At the sound of his name, Ronan’s eyes flutter open. He squints around Kavinsky and his brow furrows.

“Adam?”

“Shit, you’re wasted,” Adam says more than asks.

“Do you fucking mind?” Kavinsky seethes. “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“He’s barely conscious!” Adam snarls back. “I’m taking him home.”

“The hell you are!” Kavinsky shouts, and withdraws his hand from Ronan’s crotch to shove Adam hard and away. Adam staggers but manages to keep his footing.

“Ronan,” Adam growls, with command in his voice. “Come with me. We’re going home.”

Ronan’s response is for his head to droop further down, his mouth falling partially open.

“Fuck, K, he’s stoned out of his mind,” Adam points out.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Kavinsky retorts. “Now run along, mouse.”

“Ronan!” Adam shouts, and it’s enough to jog Ronan awake again. His head pops up and his eyes lock on Adam and a slow smile curls his lips.

“Adam…” he mumbles, and his hand reaches out for his roommate.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kavisnky growls. Ronan pushes himself off the wall, his weight suddenly knocking Kavinsky aside and he practically topples on top of Adam.

Adam catches him. Ronan has a couple of inches on him and easily thirty pounds, but he manages to get his shoulder under Ronan’s arm to help balance him. Ronan lets most of his weight press down on Adam and his head falls to lean against Adam’s temple.

“What did he take?” Adam asks Kavinsky seriously. Kavinsky looks furious, his eyes darting between the two: boring into Ronan with want and then back to Adam with hate. But it seems Ronan has forgotten Kavinsky is even there as his arm wraps around Adam’s waist to help support himself.

“What shit did he take, dammit!” Adam yells. Kavinsky’s gaze locks onto Adam, those empty eyes sizing him up. Adam suppresses a shudder. When Kavinsky looks at him, he looks like he is looking at food.

“Some ‘Special K’,” he says, a taunting smile twisting his thin lips.

“What’s in it? Ketamine?”

“No, no, Parrish, you don’t ask a chef for his secret ingredients,” Kavinsky admonishes.

“Useless,” Adam hisses under his breath as he begins to make his lumbering way out of the bathroom.

“Hey!” Kavinsky yells. Adam stops and turns to give the hooligan one last disgusted look while he says his piece. “I don’t take kindly to little snot nose shits stealing my toys,” he cautions darkly.

“You take one step towards me, and I will be calling the cops,” Adam says in his most dangerous voice, the one that is low and calm and logical. “How much drugs are on you right now? Plus, you have a witness to attempted sexual assault. Try me.”

With that, Adam continues leading Ronan out of the bathroom.

“I’ll be seeing you, Parrish!” Kavinsky calls from behind him. Adam does not deign to look back a second time.

The trek to the club exit is more difficult than he’d thought. Ronan is barely supporting himself, and the crush of dancing bodies makes manoeuvring difficult. Fortunately, Adam finally gets to the exit. The bouncer eyes him suspiciously, so Adam nods to him reassuringly. It’s going to be a long walk home and Adam does not have the budget for a cab.

“Ronan.”

Adam shuffles the larger man resting against him. Ronan grumbles incoherently.

“Ronan, you still with me?”

No response.

“I’m gonna call Gansey.”

Gansey’s name seems to be the magic words as it causes Ronan’s head to dart up, alert. He looks at Adam with wide, desperate eyes.

“Not Gansey,” Ronan pleads.

“I need him to drive us home. I can’t carry you.”

Ronan’s lucidity is short lived as already his head is toppling back to settle against Adam’s. Adam can feel Ronan’s cold sweat against his hairline, which is a shocking contrast to the hot breath Ronan pants against his neck.

“Not Gansey,” Ronan mumbles a lot less clearly. “Just you.”

Heat curls at the bottom of Adam’s spine. He isn’t sure if it’s from the warmth of Ronan pressed completely against him, or the way he said _Just you_ like Adam was someone who mattered.

_Fuck._

Adam compartmentalizes those thoughts for later and drags Ronan’s body to the edge of the sidewalk to hail down a cab. Tonight, Adam will have no compunctions about Ronan’s credit card paying for it.

He manages to get one to pull over within five minutes and the cabbie is kind enough to help him manoeuvre Ronan’s body into the back seat.

Ronan topples over against the car window, eyelids fluttering. Adam gives the cabbie and apologetic look before revealing his address. The cabbie seems unimpressed.

“If he vomits in the car, you pay for cleaning,” he warns before pulling away from the curb.

Adam spends the cab ride watching Ronan. Ronan seems unsure if he wants to pass out or freak out; every few minutes he jerks upright, looks around the car like a lost puppy, before collapsing back against the window in a stoned haze.

Adam uses the opportunity to send Gansey a quick text:

_Found him. He’s wasted. Taking him home. I’ll watch him tonight._

It takes only a few seconds for Gansey’s reply:

_Oh thank god! Call me if you need anything. I’ll take over tomorrow. Sorry to have put you through this._

Adam pockets his phone and takes another look at Ronan. There’s sweat sheening on his forehead and he looks too pale in the little light entering the cab from the streets. Adam is definitely worried.

When they finally get home, Adam breaks out into a stream of curses as he lugs the bigger man up the stairs to their front door. He eventually makes it inside and is able to get Ronan to collapse onto the couch before removing his boots. Ronan is no longer reacting at all to Adam’s manhandling; he is officially passed out.

_But still breathing._

Almost on autopilot, Adam grabs his penlight and checks Ronan’s pupillary light reflex, his pulse, his temperature. The last thing he needs is for Ronan to overdose on Kavinsky’s mystery cocktail. He seems out of it, but that’s about the worse of it for now. Ronan will probably feel like death in the morning, but he has no one to blame but himself.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Adam says to Ronan’s unconscious form. When he gets no response, Adam starts to manoeuvre Ronan into the Bacchus position. He fetches the garbage bin from the bathroom and puts it on the floor next to Ronan’s head. He sits on the ground next to the edge of the couch, letting all the awful events of the day sink in.

Ronan’s eyes are moving under his lids. Adam wonders what he could possibly be dreaming of. Adam wonders if he would be able to remember his dreams. Or even what happened tonight.

“I’m not your mom,” Adam says to Ronan, as if he could hear Ronan’s leer despite the boy being asleep. Adam sighs. Because he can’t deny something in him feels responsible for this tall mess of a man. He doesn’t know why he cares, why he should, but he does. Maybe it’s because Ronan is now his patient, and Adam is determined to be a good doctor.

_Or maybe it’s because of the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention…_ says the traitorous voice in the back of his head.

_Maybe it’s because of the way he looked at you when he was touching himself…_

Adam frowns.

_Maybe it’s because you wanted to call Gansey and he said, “Just you”._

“You need to cut Kavinsky out,” Adam tells Ronan’s sleeping form. “Or this is just gonna keep happening. Addiction can’t be cured when you keep exposing yourself to temptation.”

Adam doesn’t know why he’s still talking. Yet he can’t stop.

“I hope this wasn’t because of me. Because of what I walked in on…”

Adam bites his tongue, uncomfortable by that line of thought.

“You’re better than this,” he pleas, trying to stop himself from making the statement into a question. “Gansey doesn’t befriend hopeless junkies. He believes in you. And I don’t think either of us could live with ourselves if we disappointed him.”

Adam doesn’t know why he’s bringing this back to Gansey. This is Ronan’s life and Ronan’s choices.

“What about your family?” he says, suddenly angry. “I bet your family worries constantly about you. Especially your brothers. I know you lost your dad, but if he loved you, he wouldn’t want you to be like this because of him.”

Something tight and painful hurls against the inside of Adam’s chest.

_What do you mean “_ if _he loved you”. Of course his father loved him. Most fathers love their sons…_

Adam’s jaw tightens. Anger is bubbling inside him now, a pressure behind his eyes, pushing against his tongue.

“People care about you!” he snaps at Ronan. “Do you know how lucky you are!?”

Adam has to take a large gulp of air. It’s so much effort keeping the rage down, from exploding. He wants to hit and scream and break things. It’s in his DNA, after all.

_Control. You are not your father._

Adam swallows back the rage, the tears, the feelings.

“Don’t throw it away,” he says finally, his voice cracking. “Don’t throw away the love of all these people.”

Adam feels the tears start to roll down his cheeks despite his best efforts. He hates himself for this moment of weakness, of self-pity.

_Yelling at an unconscious body, yeah, that’s healthy_ , his mind chides at him.

He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He watches Ronan sleep. Watches the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his skin. The way the shadows cut such sharp lines on his cheekbones.

_I shouldn’t care this much,_ Adam tells himself, unable to look away from the slow motion of Ronan’s chest expanding and contracting with each breath.

_Why do I care this much?_

Adam finds his arm moving almost on its own accord. His long fingers reach out to Ronan’s cheek. As gentle as a breeze, he touches the curve of Ronan’s cheekbone, sliding down and around the sharp angle of his jaw. He can feel the coarse stubble against the pads of his fingers and quickly draws his hand away. His heart is beating fast. Ronan doesn’t even twitch.

_Why do I care?_

***

Ronan stirs. He feels like his blood has been replaced with molten lead. Something in the back of his head is pulling him down, down, down.

_Open your eyes._

He tries, but his lids feel crusted shut. He lifts a hand to rub them open and he hears something move beside him.

_Chainsaw_ , he thinks. But no. The sounds are not the ruffle of feathers, but the ruffle of clothing.

“Hey.”

The voice is as familiar as warm honey in tea. Ronan feels his skin prickle. He knows who it is, he just needs his brain to catch up.

_Adam._

His eyes dart open. What is Adam doing in his room? Especially after...

Ronan swallows as the events of the previous day catch up to him.

He stares into those deep cerulean eyes. They are bloodshot, with bruising under the lids.

“You look like shit,” Ronan croaks. His voice is dry from disuse and dehydration. Without a word, Adam offers Ronan a cup of water, as if he had been waiting with it. Only once Ronan takes it and starts chugging does Adam reply.

“You’re one to talk.”

Ronan hands over the empty glass and tries to sit up. He feels Adam place a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. The room seems to twist and turn on its own and his head starts pounding with his heartbeat. Ronan scowls.

“What happened?” Ronan asks. He realizes he is on the couch in the living room. He tries to piece together the previous day. He remembers the morning, sleeping in, feeding Chainsaw, making breakfast.

He remembers the afternoon, in his room, thinking Adam wouldn’t be home for hours, thinking he could have this moment to just _feel._

He remembers the sound of a breath, his eyes opening, seeing the boy there, the blush on his freckled cheeks, his eyes wide, Adam not moving, but Adam _not looking away._ That is, before he ran.

He remembers the storming electricity under his skin. He needed to move, hit, crash, burn. He needed to get away from Adam, who must now _know_ the one secret Ronan was hoping to spare him.

_He watched me..._

Yeah and Ronan had watched back. Had consumed Adam back.  He wanted to sketch Adam in that moment, frozen and flushed, that tongue darting out to touch his lips. Ronan wishing it was darting out to touch his own lips instead.

_Fuck._

He knows what this is. What the thrumming in his veins mean when Adam looks at him, smiles at him, laughs at his joke. Adam, who has _girlfriends_. Adam, who is in medical school and doesn’t believe in God. Adam who has secret scars, inside and out.

“You okay?” Adam asks hesitantly. Ronan knows he is spacing out, staring at Adam as his heart pounds harder and harder against his ribs.

_He is not yours to have._

Ronan doesn’t lie. Not even to himself.

Ronan shakes his head.

“I feel like a truck is pouring cement into my head,” he confesses.

“Not surprised.”

Adam’s voice almost sounds judgemental, which makes Ronan shoot him a glare.

“What is the last thing you remember?” Adam asks.

“Driving.”

It’s still the truth. After Adam ran, after Ronan orgasmed into his hand thinking of those eyes, those hands, that smile, he panicked. He had to leave the apartment. He had to run. And the fastest thing to run away in was his car.

And Ronan drives the fastest when he’s racing.

Ronan remembers Kavinsky. He remembers finding him, challenging him, wanting the adrenaline to push all other thoughts away. Kavinsky was always up for something reckless.

And reckless they were. They raced, engines thrumming with his pulse, down the interstate in broad daylight, swerving around traffic. Ronan won. And then they drank. The prize was a six pack, Kavinsky handing it over with a demand for a rematch once Ronan had finished drinking them, a crooked smirk on his face.

And then…

And then…

Ronan stops remembering.

“Shit,” Ronan says. Beer has never given Ronan blackouts. Which meant that wasn’t just beer Kavinsky had given him.

“Shit?” Adam parrots, sounding unimpressed. “Remembering something else recreational you may have done yesterday?”

The tone is completely accusing and makes Ronan’s blood boil.

“I didn’t get high,” Ronan seethes back.

“You sure about that? Because you were wrecked last night. And I know the difference between drunk wrecked and borderline overdosing.”

Ronan feels his skin heat, but stares Adam down.

“I didn’t get high,” Ronan repeats.

“Bull shit.”

“I don’t lie.”

“Also bull shit.”

Ronan’s expression melts from angry and defensive to serious and calm.

“I. Don’t. Lie,” he says slowly, refusing to break eye contact with Adam.

“Then what happened?” Adam asks, equally slow and sternly.

The truth, or what Ronan suspects is the truth, is both embarrassing and difficult. But he forces the words out. Because he needs Adam to understand that he isn’t that person anymore.

“I think…I was roofied.”

Adam blinks twice, absorbing that information, his face suddenly blank.

“Was it Kavinsky?” Adam asks. Ronan supresses a shudder at the thought. But he also nods.

“Now you tell me how I got home,” Ronan demands, still staring at Adam, hoping he looks less ashamed and more intimidating.

“You missed dinner with Gansey. We were worried you fell off the wagon. We went looking. Me, Blue, Gansey. I found you in a shitty club in the Gay Village with Kavinsky’s hand down your pants.”

Ronan closes his eyes and throws his head back at this information. He has the need to take a boiling hot shower. Maybe ten. He thought he had made it clear to Kavinsky that they were done. That _he_ was done. With the drugs, with the sex. He just needed to race. Just race.

“Did he try to hurt you?” Ronan manages to force out. He can live with K fucking up his life. But not others. Not Adam’s.

“No.”

The relief Ronan feels is like a warm blanket.

“Then I took you home,” Adam concludes. “You weren’t very lucid. But at least you didn’t puke.”

With that, Adam climbs to his feet, stretches his long limbs, let’s out a yawn.

Ronan looks at Adam, really looks. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday. There’s a pillow on the floor next to the couch. He looks dishevelled and tired, the black rings around his eyes stark even against his tanned complexion.

_He stayed with me. All night._

Something constricts around Ronan’s heart. He is feeling the things he should not be feeling.

“Thank you,” Ronan whispers. Adam glances at Ronan, eyebrows raised, as if he didn’t expect gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Adam says as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Why not?” Ronan asks. Because he wants to thank Adam. Not just with words. With hands and lips and everything he has to give.

_He is not yours to have._

“Because Gansey is going to be here in ten minutes.”

The stream of curse words that leave Ronan’s mouth is so eloquent and eclectic, Adam can’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving your comments. Thanks so much. Keep 'em coming.  
> Next chapter is mostly written. It's going to be a doozy, though.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The doozy (well, one of them).  
> Tags/warnings: Violence.
> 
> Unbeta'd

Adam Parrish did not think he would ever see Gansey lose his temper and yell at someone. Yet the very scene was unfolding in his living room. Adam doesn’t even pretend to be busy so he could eavesdrop. He instead makes himself a cup of tea, takes a seat at the kitchen table, and watches as two friends closer than brothers tear each other new ones.

“You know how much stress you put me through!?” Gansey screams, his face red with his anger. “I thought I was going to find your dead body in a ditch. What were you thinking!?”

“You aren’t responsible for me, Dick!” Ronan yells back. “I’m a fucking adult.” And Adam knows he has the claws out for real just based on the fact he used Gansey’s least favourite nickname.

“Uh, I kind of am!” Gansey snaps back. “That was the deal. It was either me watching out for you or Declan putting his leash on. And you _know_ you didn’t want your brother in control of your life.”

“I’m not obligated to check in with you! I’m not obligated to give you my schedule! I’m not obligated to report my whereabouts!” Ronan bites back.

“But you are obligated _to stay clean_.”

Gansey sighs, rubs his face with his hand.

“I’m not using,” Ronan says, suddenly very quietly. The plea on his face, for Gansey to trust him in this, is noted.

“I believe you,” Gansey replies, equally exasperated. “But why would you go anywhere with Kavinsky? Why would you put yourself in a situation where he can drug you against your will? Where he could…”

Gansey trails off; the truth of what Kavinsky nearly did to Ronan last night is a too bitter pill to swallow.

“I just needed to breathe,” Ronan says. “I just needed…” Ronan’s gaze darts up to Adam only for an instant, to see Adam watching calmly with his intelligent eyes. Ronan then looks beseechingly at Gansey. Gansey’s expression melts into something sympathetic.

“I know,” Gansey says. Adam wonders what he means. Does he mean he knows about Adam walking in on him touching himself yesterday? Does he know about the way Ronan has been watching Adam, with something akin to heat behind his eyes? Does he know Ronan needs to drive fast to burn the energy that would otherwise drive him to something worse?

“Just, not Kavinsky,” Gansey pleads. “What am I supposed to think aside self-destructiveness when you choose Kavinsky?”

Ronan says nothing for a moment.

“Then race me,” he finally announces.

“What?” Gansey says. Adam’s sentiments are equally bewildered.

“You own a goddamn muscle car and all you do with it is take yourself to the mall,” Ronan explains.

“So you want me to drag race so that I can end up dead in a ditch with you? No thanks.”

“You want to, Gansey. Why won’t you just let loose?” Ronan asks.

“I have other ways of ‘letting loose’,” Gansey retorts.

“Hiking forests with EMF readers is not letting loose,” Ronan argues.

“ _Ronan_.”

Gansey says his name like he means something else entirely.

“I’m not like you!” Ronan shouts, his scowl back on his face. “I can’t be happy with books and legends and ugly polo shirts.”

“Hey!” Gansey snaps, pointing a warning finger at him. Adam almost laughs. Almost. “It’s more than that,” Gansey explains. “It’s Blue. And my family. And my friends. _People_ make us happy, Ronan. Not cars or drugs.”

Something in Adam coils darkly at that explanation.

_Is that why I’m so miserable?_ he asks himself. Because what Gansey is saying makes sense. But it also makes Adam incomplete.

Ronan is also quiet at those words. So quiet, Gansey realizes he may have gone too far.

“You have a family that loves you,” Gansey begins.

“Stop,” Ronan says, the words cutting like a blade. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“You and Declan need to put your past behind you and reconcile.”

“You seriously think that if Declan and I are BFFs, all my problems would be solved?” Ronan asks incredulously.

“No,” Gansey says. “But it would be a start.”

“Fuck that,” Ronan replies, his voice raw. “Fuck him. Did you know he won’t let Matthew be alone with me? Did you know he won’t add me to my mother’s visitor list without supervision? Did you know he won’t let me set foot on the Barns?”

Gansey looks like he has just been slapped. But he nods.

“I know,” Gansey whispers.

“So how could you say that?” Ronan asks. “How can you think we can just hug it out? _He_ is taking away everything that means something to me. Because I made a mistake. It’s been over a year I’ve been clean. And he still won’t trust me.”

Gansey’s thumb is kneading his lip again.

“I can talk to him,” Gansey offers. Ronan laughs humourlessly.

“You’ve tried that, remember? You got him to let me live with you. But he hasn’t budged on anything else.”

Ronan suddenly collapses on the couch, like his strings have just been cut. He is swallowing, and Adam suspects he may be pushing back tears.

“Declan cares about you,” Gansey argues. Ronan snorts. “He’s just not going about it in the right way.”

“No shit,” Ronan grumbles.

Gansey sighs. “Just… let me try talking him again, okay?”

Ronan and Gansey eye each other in an intense moment of stillness. Adam can’t help but feel a whole other conversation is occurring, just without words. Ronan breaks the silence first with a sigh.

“Whatever.”

Gansey places a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and squeezes. Ronan at least doesn’t throw it off. Gansey turns to Adam in the kitchen and walks over.

“Thanks. For everything.”

“It’s fine,” Adam says, although part of him disagrees. He’s now sleep deprived and behind on his studying, and will probably have to lose a shift of work to catch up. Gansey notices the insincerity in Adam’s voice.

“Is there something I can do?” Gansey offers. Adam shakes his head.

“I just need some sleep,” he says. Which is the truth, but not all of it.

_I need $500 for my car. I need an extra day a week for school work. I need a moment to process the last 24 hours. I need ten gallons of coffee._

Gansey offers Adam his fist. Adam bumps their knuckles together.

“Blue sends her love,” he says before he turns to the door.

Ronan gives Gansey a nod before Gansey let’s himself out.

A different silence descends the apartment. Ronan is staring at his knees on the couch, slumped and frowning. Adam lifts his mug to his lips and finds there is no tea left in the cup. He hates everything about this morning and won’t stand it any longer.

“Come on,” Adam says, getting to his feet.

“What?” Ronan asks, head darting up to look at his roommate.

“I’m hungry. I want breakfast. You’re buying. And driving,” Adam explains.

“Am I?” Ronan asks with a raised brow.

“I think it’s the least you can do after I rescued you. Plus, my car is still in the shop, so unless you want to walk…”

“Fucker,” Ronan says, but he says it with a small smile on his face. Ronan gets up, grabs his jacket, pulls out his keys.

“Wait, where’s my car?” Ronan asks.

Adam blinks. They had taken a cab home last night. Ronan had driven to god knows where to meet Kavinsky in the first place. The BMW is definitely not in their parking lot.

“Wherever you left it?” Adam suggests with a shrug.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

***

The dynamic between Adam and Ronan shifts after that day. It comes mostly from Ronan, who is still a surly bastard to the world, but it’s as if Adam is now excluded from his wrath. Ronan is still withdrawn, and cusses like a sailor, and gives zero fucks about most things. But now Adam finds himself invited for a drive once in a while. He finds Ronan’s bedroom door open more than it is closed (without further incident of indecent exposure). He finds Chainsaw watching him do his homework, even when Ronan is out. When Ronan and Gansey make plans, they invite him and Blue along.

Adam loves watching Ronan and Gansey exist together. He loves the dark and the light push and prod and still ultimately love each other. It’s such a poetic contrast, but it makes sense.

He especially loves watching Blue and Ronan exist together. They are both fierce creatures with sharp tongues, and Blue would die before she’d let anyone get the last word. It’s almost a game between the two, who can come up with the better insult, who has the better punchline. The words “Maggot” and “Snake” are thrown around so often, Adam sometimes forgets they have actual names.

Adam almost wants to believe that he and Ronan are officially friends now. That they’ve created this unit, the four of them. But then he still catches Ronan in the corner of his eye, looking at him. Staring at him.

_Pining_ is the word his mind supplies. Adam still hasn’t figured out what that means, or how he feels about it. But sometimes, when he’s feeling brave, he will stare back.

Ronan’s sexuality is never the topic of conversation. But it’s clear he has had _something_ with Kavinsky. And it’s clear that Ronan is probably gay. And it’s clear that Ronan likes looking at Adam.

Adam’s sexuality, on the other hand, it too often a subject of conversation.

“Have you met any nice girls in med school?” Gansey would ask innocuously.

“Or boys?” Blue would throw in with a smirk.

He really doesn’t have time. And he doesn’t want to try, not after how things ended with Caitlin (which he still feels guilty about). But people always ask. And it’s annoying. As if being single is such a terrible thing.

_No. There are far worse things than being single._

In December, the worse thing comes to visit.

***

The exam period before the Christmas holidays is stressful. Adam feels like tearing his hair out when he has six exams in four days. He feels like screaming when he takes two more shifts than he should to finally pay off his car repairs. He feels like fainting when he needs to buy new winter boots after his old ones fall apart from 5 years of use.

Exam period is hell and it’s only halfway done. But Adam smiles because he has a bath tub. And soaking in too hot water for thirty minutes is the only thing that is keeping him going during these days of hell.

He climbs out of the Hondayota, finding himself referring to it more and more as the Shit-mobile ( _thanks Ronan_ ).

He hops up the stairs, almost slipping on the slush. He has long since gotten used to intense cold as part of New England winters, but he has not quite gotten used to everything being so wet all the time.

Adam is so focused on pouring himself a bath that he barely registers the man sitting on the steps in front of his apartment door. It’s not until Adam is about to tread on him that he sees him there.

“What are you doing here?” Adam gasps as the man stands up.

Robert Parrish is a giant. Not literally, but in Adam’s head. Truth be told, Adam surpassed his father in height at the age of fifteen, but it never felt that way. Robert Parrish has a presence that makes him a giant: intimidating, gruff, broad shouldered and beer bellied. Skin red and ruddy. A moustache with course hair, a mixture of dust and grey.

From a distance, nobody would mistake Adam for the progeny of this man. But up close, when you see Robert has deep blue eyes with long lashes, when you notice the tone of his skin and hair, and when you hear the deep baritone of his voice, the shared Parrish bloodline is obvious.

Adam hates it enough to want to tear the very skin off his bones.

“What are you doing here?” Adam asks again, straightening his back. It took years of coaching himself, but Adam will cower in front of this man no longer.

“Can’t a father see his son?” Robert replies, folding his arms across his chest, causing his biceps to bulge.

“You know you can’t,” Adam says between gritted teeth. Which is true. He has a restraining order.

“Look, I just want to talk,” Robert says with a sigh.

“I don’t,” Adam replies tersely, and turns on the sole of his winter boot, ready to dart back down the stairs to get away, his bath be damned.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, boy!” Robert yells. His voice is loud and angry and full of Henrietta. Adam freezes. He wants to hit himself. He owes this man nothing. He should just walk away. But Adam was conditioned since he was a toddler to obey that voice, and habits really do die hard.

“I raised you. I gave you eighteen years of my life. So you damn well better talk to me,” Robert orders.

Adam turns back to his father, his face blank of any emotion.

“Not here,” Adam says. He doesn’t want to make a scene. He doesn’t want his neighbours to hear and peek out their doors and see the dark place he knows this conversation is leading to.

Adam unlocks his front door and ushers his father inside. Robert follows, and immediately scans the apartment with judgemental eyes.

“Not doing too bad for yourself,” he says, but his voice conveys resentment, not pride in his son. Adam wants to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

“What do you want to talk about?” Adam presses.

“Where your manners, boy? Not even going to offer your father a drink? A seat? Take my coat?”

“No,” Adam says firmly.

Robert shakes his head. “I can’t believe how ungrateful you are.”

“Oh, I’m very grateful,” Adam hisses. “For the bruises. The scars. The beatings. The days I’ve spent hiding from you. So very grateful.”

Robert doesn’t flinch, but stares angrily at Adam. Adam glares right back.

“I’m here because of your mother,” Robert says. Adam keeps any response from his face. His father may be trailer trash, but he knows how to emotionally manipulate his son.

“She’s not doing well,” he continues. “Bad pneumonia.”

Adam keeps his silence. Keeps his cold, emotionless stare.

“The times are tough. Money is getting tight. She needs lots of medicine.”

“No.” Adam says for a second time, his voice like a blade.

“No?” Robert asks.

“No, you can’t have any money,” Adam clarifies.

“Your mother, the woman who gave you life, can barely get out of bed,” Robert elaborates.

“My mother, the woman who watched you beat me senseless, and then told me it was my own fault, should have taken better care of herself,” Adam spits back.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Robert yells, and before Adam can react, his father has the front of his jacket balled in his fist, pulling Adam right up to his face, his words leaving flecks of saliva on Adam’s cheek. “You don’t talk about her like that, you hear me? That’s your mother. Show some goddamn respect!”

Adam’s heart is beating a mile a minute. It’s taking all of Adam’s control to not flinch and cower and apologize.

“Let. Go.” Adam says in his dangerous voice: slow, clear, low.

“Apologize,” Robert demands, and shakes Adam for emphasis.

“Let. Me. Go.” Adam repeats, daggers in his eyes.

“Stubborn little cunt!” Robert spits and before Adam knows what is happening, Robert’s other hand is swinging, cuffing Adam on his left temple.

The blow almost knocks Adam off his feet, but Robert is still holding him up by his jacket. The world is shaky and spinning. Adam blinks the stars out of his eyes.

“Get out.” Adam says, catching his breath, forcing the waver in his voice down. He manages to regain his balance and holds his own weight up. He reaches to grab his father’s wrist and yanks with all his strength to get Robert to let go of his jacket.

“I can’t believe I raised you. I can’t believe I wasted all this time,” Robert seethes. His face is red in his rage. Like it is when he’s drunk. Adam has stopped being able to tell the difference years ago.

“Get out,” Adam repeats, reaching around Robert to open the door.

“Don’t talk to me that way, boy!” Robert bellows, and backhands Adam across the face. The blow knocks Adam off his feet, and he crashes into the wall next to the door before crumpling to his knees. His skin stings and he tastes rust. He must have bit his tongue.

“You dare talk down to me, like you’re better than me?!” Robert throws a punch this time, right at Adam’s head. It causes the left side of Adam’s face to smash right against the door knob. The metal crushes into the joint of his jaw, right next to his ear. Adam falls to the ground, too disoriented to put his hands up in front of him to stop his head knocking against the floor. Nausea hits Adam in a horrific wave, and he turns just in time to vomit on the tiles. Something warm and wet is filling his left ear, leaking down his neck. There is a ringing in his head. It is louder than any other sound in the apartment. His vision is blurry and the room is tilting to one side, but he can see Robert still looming over him, screaming at him, pulling back his foot to kick him while he’s down.

Adam closes his eyes and braces himself. The blow never comes.

Adam tries to turn his head, to see what is going on, why there isn’t more pain. The image is blurred, the sound muffled, but he can make out the figure of his father on the floor feet away from him, moving, struggling. There is something dark and indistinct on top of Robert Parrish, pinning him down, pummeling his face. Robert’s arms are raised, trying to protect himself, but the darkness keeps going, hitting and hitting with pale fists and an open mouth that must be screaming, but the sounds are partially muted.

“Ronan,” Adam gasps. He tries to climb to his hands and knees, but everything is fading and tilting and he’s so dizzy and feels so weak, and if he could just put his thoughts together he could figure out what is happening.

“Ronan!” Adam yells again, and his own voice is echoing in his head louder than it should. The figure stops pounding Robert Parrish and leaps to Adam’s side.

“Adam, you okay?” Ronan asks, but Adam is half reading his lips since his voice is barely audible.

“I can’t…” is all Adam can muster before he starts gagging again, but nothing comes out since his stomach’s contents are already sitting a foot away from him.

He feels Ronan’s strong hands pull him up. He doesn’t know where Ronan came from, if he had been in the apartment the whole time or had just entered, but it doesn’t matter. Ronan drags Adam to the couch, makes him sit, kneels in front of him.

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” Ronan asks. Adam again is lip reading more than hearing. He’s about to say no, but then realizes how stupid that would be as his brain finally provides him some useful information.

_Your inner ear is damaged._

Of course. The vertigo, the deafness. Adam is not okay and should definitely see a doctor.

“My father,” Adam says, because there is still the problem of his attacker. He tries to turn his head to look over the couch, but Ronan grasps his chin and makes him focus on his own face, on the two most dazzling, bluest eyes Adam has ever seen.

“Do you want me to call the cops?” Ronan asks.

_There will be repercussions,_ his brain supplies. But Adam is seriously hurt and has father has not only violated his restraining order, but has also committed assault. Then again, so has Ronan.

“What about you?” Adam asks. And Ronan starts laughing in Adam’s face. Adam scowls, unsure why, when everything is muted and spinning and he feels so sick, why oh why is Ronan laughing at him?

Ronan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Adam thinks he is about to call the police, still undecided if that’s the wisest course of action, but then Ronan looks at Adam with something akin to concern and says into his cell, “Gansey, we have a situation. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Ronan POV at the beginning. And Feelings.  
> Unbeta'd.

Ronan is in the waiting area of emergency. Waiting. Because that is what waiting areas are for.

But he is having difficulty. Because waiting means he has to stay put. For hours. Has it been hours? Yes, it has. Waiting means he has to rely on these asshole doctors and their asshole nurses to do their fucking jobs at the pace of snails to find out if Adam is going to be okay.

Ronan doesn’t know how many blows Adam’s father had gotten in before he had intervened, but he saw the way Adam’s head had smashed into the door before smacking against the ground. He saw the way Adam’s head was tilted to the left on the brisk walk to the hospital, Ronan half carrying the poor boy who was so unsteady on his feet. Ronan himself had cleaned up Adam’s vomit from the floor as they waited for Gansey and the cops to arrive. None of these were good signs.

He should be counting his blessings that he wasn’t arrested. He should thank Adam for being lucid enough to tell the police he was pressing charges against his father. He was almost put in cuffs until the words “restraining order” had left Adam’s mouth.

Ronan had been living with the beautiful boy for months and he hadn’t a clue how bad it had been for him. But it all came out when the cops showed up, when Gansey had a lawyer on his phone, pressed to the policeman’s ear. When Adam had to reveal all his dirty laundry so Ronan wouldn’t end up in jail.

“Hey,”

Ronan looks up, and sees the boy in front of him now. There is a bandage wrapped around his head, a soft gauze pad covering his ear. His head is still slightly tilted, but he is at least standing on his own without support.

“Hey,” Ronan says back.

Adam collapses into the empty plastic seat next to him, his long fingers clenching and unclenching into fists in his lap. They sit in a silence, Ronan watching Adam from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adam says.

“The fuck would I talk about?” Ronan replies.

Adam nods.

“Can we go?” Ronan asks.

“I…” Adam trails off, words stuck in his throat. “Yes, let’s go.”

They get up. They have a short walk back to the apartment, but Ronan can already feel the tension burning, the words unsaid.

Ronan hands Adam his coat. Adam takes it, his hands still twitchy. Or maybe they’re shaking. Ronan can’t tell.

The winter air bites Ronan’s cheeks. He pulls a grey beanie from his pocket and places it on his head. Adam shivers, tucks his hands into his coat pocket.

“Here,” Ronan says, offering Adam a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. Adam hesitates, but relents and takes them.

“I won’t be able to drive for a while,” Adam says as they start heading out of the hospital.

“Bummer,” Ronan replies, worried about where this is going.

“I won’t be able to hear from my left ear,” Adam continues, his voice so quiet Ronan isn’t sure if he is talking to him or himself.

“For how long?” Ronan asks.

“Forever.”

Ronan stops in his tracks, looking at Adam wide-eyed.

“The fuck, Parrish?” Ronan says.

“It is what it is,” Adam replies with a shrug, not even slowing his stride.

“‘It is what it is?’ You literally just got your hearing beaten out of you by your father and all you can say is, ‘It is what it is’?” Ronan wants to shake Adam.

“I said I didn’t want to talk about,” Adam snaps, finally stopping to look at Ronan.

“Jesus.”

Ronan rubs a hand over his face.

“Your hands…” Adam exhales, sounding both surprised and solemn.

Ronan looks at his hands. His knuckles are bruised and cut from where they pummelled into Robert Parrish’s skull.

“Now that’s a double standard,” Ronan ripostes.

“What?”

“You can’t get upset about my hands if I can’t get upset about your ear,” he explains, his chin raised in challenge.

Adam’s eyes narrow to slits.

“You shouldn’t have-”

“Oh, fuck you!” Ronan yells. “I shouldn’t have stopped him from beating the shit out of you? Is that what you were going to say?”

Adam bites his lower lip.

“It was never meant to be your problem,” Adam whispers guiltily.

“Well it’s my fucking problem when a psychopath comes into my apartment and starts wailing on my roommate. Christ sake, Adam, you don’t have to play the martyr. That asshole deserves ten times the beating I gave him.”

Adam looks to the ground, shame turning his cheeks red. Or maybe it’s just the cold.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says.

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” Ronan snaps, anger thrumming in his veins. He knows he isn’t angry at Adam, he is angry at what Adam had to suffer. Ronan starts walking again, deciding to keep his mouth shut before he says something he’ll regret.

_Like, “How can someone so smart be so stupid.” Or, “Why the fuck did you let him in in the first place?” Or, “Why didn’t you call for help?”_

Ronan trudges through the slush, hears Adam’s fast steps attempt to catch up to him, hears a yelp and then a splash.

Ronan turns and sees Adam lying on his flank on the ground, a frown on his face, wet slush seeping into his jeans.

“Dammit,” Adam sighs, flicking his wrists to get the wet snow off his sleeves.

Ronan steps up to him, stares down at the boy who looks like a pathetic wet kitten. He almost wants to laugh at the sad little scene, and feels the smile cracking his lips.

“Shut it,” Adam grumbles, less than amused. Ronan, still smirking, offers Adam his hand. Adam takes it.

“You really are hopeless, Parrish,” Ronan says as he helps Adam settle on his feet. Adam may still be a bit tipsy from his injury as he clings to Ronan for balance. He won’t look at Ronan’s face, but he doesn’t let go of Ronan’s arm.

“Come on,” Ronan says, wrapping his hand around Adam’s waist to support him.

“I’m okay, I can walk on my own.”

“Can you stop being a stubborn ass for like five minutes and just let me get you home in one piece?” Ronan growls.

Adam stares at Ronan, their faces inches apart. Ronan stares just as stubbornly back, still gripping Adam’s waist.

“I’m-”

“If you say ‘fine’,” Ronan butts in, “I am going right back to that hospital, stealing a wheelchair, _literally_ taping your ass to the seat, and wheeling you home.”

Adam snaps his mouth shut and glares. There is so much intensity in that stare, Ronan feels heat start pooling in his stomach. The air between them is suddenly heavy, charged, thick with something unknown but electric. His eyes, treacherous things, dart down hungrily to Adam’s lips.

Ronan quickly brings his eyes back to Adam’s, and sees Adam’s gaze has changed from challenging to inquiring.

_Shit shit shit._

Ronan looks away, tugging Adam to start moving, holding him close. Holding him up.

Ronan feels the heat spread up his neck, his body pressed to Adam’s. He doesn’t know who he is truly helping right now: Adam or himself.

***

_I wanted him to kiss me._

The thought bullies its way out of Adam’s churning mind as he lets the hot water pound against his back. He had trouble sleeping last night, first blaming the bandage the ER nurse had wrapped around his head. But once he tore it off in a fit of rage, sleep still did not come.

At least his ear had finally stopped ringing, leaving nothing but an echoing silence on the left side of his face. It’s eerie and disorienting. But it’s just an ear. He could have lost so much more.

_I wanted him to kiss me_.

Adam’s brain is a cruel, relentless mistress, always pointing out the burdens Adam would rather avoid. But he can’t deny his own mind. And it speaks true. As Ronan walked him home from the hospital, after Adam gracefully face-planted into the slush, while Ronan was holding him up and _so so close_ , they had a moment.

Their breaths had mingled and condensed in the frigid air. There were just inches separating them, Ronan staring with his trademark intensity that Adam first thought intimidating and now almost craves. And then Ronan’s eyes darted to Adam’s lips, just for a moment, but it was enough to plant the thought in Adam’s head.

_Ronan wanted to kiss me._

All the looks, whether stealthy or not, all the secret smiles, the snarky comments, the carefully prepared leftovers, and finally the way he had saved him yesterday. The way he had insisted on taking Adam to the hospital, on waiting, on helping him home. All signs pointed to one undeniable truth.

_Ronan wants me._

Adam has tried to come up with excuses, has tried to justify the looks and the gestures as something innocuous, but Adam is not an idiot. He has trained himself since childhood to read people. Usually he is looking for signs of danger or deceit, but he has also learned to look for affection as he was so starved of it growing up. And the one conclusion he has been forced to make is that Ronan Lynch is crushing on him.

Hard.

_And I wanted him to kiss me._

In that moment yesterday, hovering only inches apart, after Ronan so obviously glanced at his lips, Adam had wished for Ronan to just close the distance. To just get it over with. To press that perfect cupid’s bow against his own.

And now he can’t stop thinking about it.

What if he had moved instead? Would Ronan have kissed him? Pushed him away? Froze in shock and awe?

Adam turns the faucet off and steps out of the tub. He pats himself dry with a towel, uses the towel to wipe the condensation off the mirror to see himself.

He looks the same. He still has the scars. One long slash on his ribs. The pale jagged one on his clavicle. The cigarette burns on his shoulder. And now a new mark: the area around his left cheek bone is slightly bruised, but the worst of it is covered by his hair. The real damage is on the inside.

_Rupture ear drum. Shattered cochlea. The cranial nerve probably torn._

The doctor had said he was lucky he hadn’t pulverized his zygomatic arch. But Adam disagrees. Having a broken face would have left him ugly for a while, but it would have healed. He will never hear out of his left ear again.

There were so many consequences waiting to engulf Adam: the court case, the statements at the police station, signing up for ASL classes. But most immediately, his exams.

The only reason Adam is even up and about is that he has an exam in two hours and since he wasn’t cleared for driving, he’s going to have triple the commute time using public transit.

It’s an exam he still needed to study for last night. But that all got derailed because he was an idiot and let his father into his home. He should have walked away. He should have _ran_ the moment he saw Robert Parrish. Adam had thought, had wished, he was free of his father’s hold. Apparently not. He couldn’t even raise his own fist against the man in self defense. Robert had smacked him around like a rag doll and all Adam could do was tell him to leave.

_You’re still so weak._

Adam pulls his gaze away from his reflection. He’s never liked his reflection. He can’t but help see his poverty there. He doesn’t see the young man who clawed his way out of obscurity into a full scholarship to attend an undergrad at MIT, and then got into Harvard medical school first try. He sees the double wide he grew up in. He sees his mother’s mouth, always frowning in disappointment. And he sees his father’s anger in the storm blue of his eyes.

Adam dresses, forces a bowl of cornflakes down his mouth, counts the pens he has in his bag. He is terrified to go to school today. Afraid he will fail his exam. Afraid people will notice the bruising on the side of his face, notice something is off.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Adam almost jumps out of his skin as he looks up from tying his shoelaces. Ronan is shirtless, wearing plaid pajama bottoms, leaning on his door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He is scowling at Adam’s crouched form.

“I have an exam,” Adam says, trying to avoid staring at Ronan’s toned chest, at his perfect abs. Adam can’t believe he is even capable of finding Ronan distracting when he is so stressed.

“Dude, you were in the hospital yesterday,” Ronan points out. He looks unamused.

“I have an exam,” Adam repeats, rising to his feet, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“That’s what doctor’s notes are for.”

“I didn’t get one,” Adam hisses, reaching for the door.

“Christ, you really gonna do this?” Ronan asks in disbelief.

Adam just shrugs. He doesn’t have time for Ronan’s shit right now.

“Sit tight for a minute,” Ronan commands, walking back into his room and closing the door.

“Why?” Adam calls after him. He doesn’t get an answer, but for some reason, he still waits. It’s only thirty seconds later Ronan throws the door open again. He is wearing a shirt and jeans and makes his way around Adam to the closet to grab his coat.

“What are you doing?” Adam asks, watching Ronan struggle into his heavy black boots. They look more like army boots than winter boots, but Ronan is attached to his aesthetic.

_Typical artist_ , Adam thinks, internally rolling his eyes.

“Let’s go,” Ronan says, twirling his car keys around his finger.

“What?”

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift,” Ronan explains, holding the door open for Adam.

“You don’t have to do th-”

“I know I don’t have to do that,” Ronan cuts him off impatiently. “You want a lift or not?”

Adam hates charity. But he also knows Ronan is not the type to get a kick out of being someone’s saviour. And quite frankly, taking Ronan’s lift will give Adam forty minutes to study, precious time he really needs.

“Yes,” Adam says, before Ronan changes his mind. “Thanks.”

Ronan turns and leads them to the BMW. Adam looks forlornly at the Shit-mobile. He loves that car, no matter how crappy it may be.

Adam gets into the passenger seat, bracing himself for Ronan to rev the engine and tear out of the parking lot like a demon. Adam is surprised that Ronan puts the car in gear and rolls out of the lot carefully. He doesn’t go a single digit over the speed limit on the drive to school. Adam stares at the speedometer, wide-eyed, then at Ronan’s face whose scowl is always present.

“What’s the deal?” Adam asks.

“Hmm?” Ronan grunts eloquently.

“You being possessed by Gansey? Because you are driving like an old biddy.”

Ronan side eyes Adam, who waits patiently for a reply.

“I have a boy who might be concussed in my car and I almost got arrested yesterday. Fuck off.”

Adam feels a small smile tug the corner of his lips.

“Who said I was concussed?”

“Well, there must be some cognitive dysfunction going on for you to be stupid enough to insist on writing your exam today.”

The smile disappears from Adam’s face.

“‘Cognitive dysfunction’. Those are some pretty big words from the fine arts kid.”

“Yeah? You want some more? How about you commit autofellatio next time you need a ride to school.”

Adam’s smile is back, and he feels the heat of a challenge thrum through his veins.

“That the best you got?”

“Okay, Parrish. I would tell you to go fornicate with a cephalopod, but I worry you will asphyxiate on its melanin-rich emissions.”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite get all that.”

“What, too many big words for the science nerd?” Ronan teases.

“No, I mean I actually can’t hear you.” Adam points to his left ear, smirking triumphantly. Ronan blinks, realization slowly dawning.

“Too soon, man,” Ronan says in awe, shaking his head.

“It’s my tragedy, I’ll laugh at it if I want to.”

Ronan pulls to stop at a red light and turns his head to look at Adam.

“You know,” Ronan starts cautiously. “There is a big difference between something tragic and something pathetic.”

“Is there?” Adam asks skeptically.

“It’s _pathetic_ if an old woman crosses the street and gets hit by a bus by accident,” Ronan explains. “She should be pitied because she was a victim of bad luck. It’s _tragic_ if an old woman crosses the street and gets hit by a bus because it was her red light and she was jay-walking. She doesn’t deserve pity because it was her own damn fault.”

Ronan lifts his left arm, the leather bracelets dropping an inch due to gravity, revealing the tips of those jagged, pink scars near his wrist.

“This,” Ronan says, shaking his arm for emphasis. “This is tragic. I don’t deserve pity. What your father did to you…”

“I don’t want pity,” Adam says savagely.

“Fair enough. My point is you need to acknowledge it wasn’t your fault.”

Adam watches Ronan silently, at a loss for words. He is a bit taken aback by this unexpected philosophical side to his normally prickly roommate. It is both tender and surprisingly wise. Adam feels he has done nothing to deserve this kindness, especially from Ronan of all people. But he realizes by thinking that he is proving Ronan’s point.

Ronan’s blue eyes are still the color of a glacier, but there is nothing cold in them in that moment. Adam could get lost in those eyes. Especially when they look at him like that, like he matters. Adam feels that charge between them again, like a magnet, like a current, singeing his skin, causing his hair to stand erect.

Ronan turns away and Adam feels the jerk of the car as the light turns green.

Again, he is plagued by a worrisome thought.

_I still want him to kiss me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say slow burn? Because one of these idiots is going to spontaneously combust at this rate. :P  
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and not killing me for torturing the characters. I mean, I'm not done torturing them, but maybe I'll let something good happen next chapter. Maybe. We'll see...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags/warnings: Gansey being such a dad  
> Unbeta'd

Adam steps out into the bright sunlight and squints against the glare. He sees the charcoal grey car illegally parked in the driveway in front of the hospital wing. He’s pretty sure only ambulances are supposed to be there.

Ronan rolls down the window, despite the cold.

“Well?” he asks.

Adam smiles and lifts his arms in the air triumphantly as he approaches.

“Thank fucking god, I was getting sick of playing Driving Ms. Daisy with you.”

“Oh shut it, no one asked you to,” Adam spits back.

Which is true, Adam didn’t ask Ronan for a single lift as he finished his exams. But like clockwork, Ronan would roll himself out of bed as Adam was about the step out the door to take the bus, tell Adam to get in the damn car, and then take him to school so he could have some extra study time. What was worse, Ronan would always be there, waiting in front of the building, as Adam stepped out a few hours later, to drive them both home.

Adam doesn’t know why Ronan had deemed himself Adam’s personal chauffeur. Actually, that is a lie: Adam knows why. It makes Adam’s skin itch. It makes the air between them thicker with each passing day. Hopefully this lift will be the last lift. Adam hates owing people as much as he hates unwarranted generosity.

He begins to manoeuvre around the front of the car to the passenger seat, but Ronan throws open the driver door and yells, “Wait!”

Adam freezes and watches Ronan step out of the car. He looks at his roommate questionably until Ronan holds up his keys in front of Adam’s face.

Adam blinks and asks, “Seriously?”

Ronan smirks and shrugs. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Adam can’t help but return the smile. He snatches the keys from Ronan’s fingers. Ronan skips around the car and gets into the passenger seat. Adam slips behind the wheel and feels static electricity light his skin on fire.

He’s fantasized about this moment countless times. Even more so the past week while he was an invalid and couldn’t use the Shit-mobile, spending more time than usual in the sleek BMW. He never thought Ronan would let anyone drive his car. Not even Gansey. Although in fairness, Gansey would never let Ronan drive the Pig, but that arrangement was more understandable since Ronan drives like a demon while Gansey drives like a soccer mom. The weight and meaning of the moment is not lost and Adam.

Adam puts the keys in the ignition and feels the beast come alive under his body. He feels his pulse quicken. He can’t stop smiling.

He glances at Ronan, who is watching him, waiting.

“Come on, Parrish. Shit or get off the pot.”

Adam laughs and puts the car in first gear. He lifts his foot off the clutch and feels it catch so smoothly as he presses down on the gas pedal.

The BMW is so complacent and malleable under his hands. It turns on a dime onto the main street at the lightest of touches. Adam sinks his foot on the gas, puts her in second, and feels the power under his feet rumble. A part of Adam hates it is only a few blocks to their apartment, but Adam won’t let this opportunity go to waste. He pushes the beast into third, only for a moment, before having to slow as they approach a stop sign.

“Turn right,” Ronan says. Adam looks at Ronan confused. Their apartment is straight ahead.

“Don’t be a pussy. Get her on the highway,” Ronan commands, his smile all teeth and madness. Adam doesn’t need to be told twice.

He turns right, pushes her to 35 mph until the on-ramp approaches.

“Show me what you got, Parrish,” Ronan challenges, knocking his knuckles against the window twice.

Adam floors it. It’s reckless and dangerous and the roads are icy, but Adam doesn’t care. His blood is screaming with adrenaline and he is gritting his teeth. But there is so little traffic, everyone is on holiday, and the road is an open maw waiting to swallow him whole. He watches the speedometer go to 50, then 60, then 70.

“More!” Ronan yells, pounding the roof with his fist.

Adam barely has to press the pedal to get her to 80 mph as he swerves into the left lane. He coaxes her to 90 mph and she barely purrs. Adam feels the car begging for more, to go faster, but he doesn’t dare.

“Shit, cop!” Ronan yells. Adam slams on the breaks, his eyes darting everywhere on the almost empty roads, his heart about to pound out of his chest.

He gets their speed down to 60 mph, his gaze scanning every nearby car and finding nothing remotely like a patrol car. Ronan lets out a devilish cackle.

“Asshole!” Adam growls, but feeling his face crack into a smile.

“Chicken shit,” Ronan throws back.

Adam takes the next exit, feeling the fire pushing against his skin slowly dissipate. He takes them home at a respectable speed, letting the gentle engine soothe his nerves.

When he pulls into their parking lot, he feels almost a pang of lost. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be allowed such an honor again.

Adam parks the car, turns off the ignition, but let’s his hands linger on the steering wheel. He feels the smile still on his face. It feels like he hasn’t smiled in forever.

“She’s a great car,” Adam says, pulling the keys out and offering them to Ronan.

Ronan takes the keys, gives Adam a quick wink, and leaps out of the passenger door.

Adam inhales deeply, savouring the smell of the leather for a moment longer, trying to archive the memory of being in control of all that power on the freeway.

Adam finally brings himself to open the door, exit the car, and follow Ronan up the stairs to their home. Ronan throws the door open, discards his jacket onto the sofa, and makes his way to the kitchen. Adam toes off his shoes, watching Ronan prowl like a sleek predator.

There are too many thoughts roaring in his head. Too many questions and scenarios. He is drunk on adrenaline and joy. Everything accumulates to one thing.

_I want to kiss him_.

“Lynch,” Adam says, before he can stop himself, before his mind can remind his mouth why what he is about to do is incredibly stupid.

“Yeah?” asks Ronan, opening the fridge to grab a drink, not even looking in Adam’s direction. Which may be for the best; Adam can feel his cheeks heating up with his incredibly stupid intentions.

Adam approaches Ronan as he straightens from the fridge, as he turns, and is pleased when Ronan startles as he notices how suddenly close they are.

“I never said thank you,” Adam says. His voice is surprisingly husky, even to his own ear.

“For what?” Ronan asks. Adam watches Ronan’s eyes. He realizes he is a bit obsessed with Ronan’s eyes. Their colour. Their intensity. They way they tend to dart down to covet his lips when he gets a bit too close.

_Just like that_.

Adam smiles upon getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Everything,” Adam says, and dives in.

Adam manages to barely brush Ronan’s lips before Ronan gasps and withdraws, back slamming into the fridge door in his hustle to create space.

They stare at each other in the most substantial silence yet. Adam with his lips pressed together, a fearful expression on his face, as if he just made a terrible mistake. Ronan, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in awe, breathing hard.

Adam’s fingers clench and unclench at his side, a sudden dread inching its way down his spine.

_What have I done?!_

Ronan straightens, still staring at Adam with a bewildered expression.

_I’ve just ruined everything._

Ronan takes a step towards Adam, his face melting into something stern and determined.

_He hates me now. Oh god, what have I done?_

Ronan lifts his arm, and Adam flinches away, slamming his eyes shut in anticipation of the punch he deserves for being so foolishly bold.

It never comes.

When Adam opens his eyes, he sees Ronan’s hand hovering just near his cheek, not touching but almost. Almost.

“Adam,” Ronan says, his expression so soft and almost sad. Adam swallows, more embarrassed from his reflexive recoil than the fact he tried and failed to kiss Ronan Lynch.

Ronan’s fingers brush Adam’s cheek, and Adam tenses. The fingers turn slightly, trail down gently from Adam’s jaw to Adam’s neck, then wrap their way around. They entwine in the long hairs on the back of Adam’s neck, Ronan’s thumb lining up with Adam’s jugular.

Adam watches as Ronan closes his eyes and leans in, his hand holding Adam steady. He doesn’t close the distance completely, leaving an inch between their noses. It is an open invitation and Ronan is waiting for Adam to accept.

Adam does.

And it is so good.

It is better than good.

It is fire and brimstone. It is rain and wind. It is the culmination of that electric current that has been growing between them finally discharging into an explosion that is burning Adam up from the inside out.

Adam is forced to step away. Ronan chases his lips before opening his eyes. Adam is panting, desperate to get oxygen to his brain because he clearly isn’t thinking. Ronan is watching him, his lips red and glinting with saliva, his pupils blown, the flush on his pale skin dipping beneath his collar.

_I want to taste every inch of that skin._

It is the first coherent thought Adam’s brain is capable of and it shocks him. Adam has known lust and attraction and desire. He has had girlfriends and sex before. But never has it been so intense that it has taken over all his other faculties, has become an obsession.

Adam realizes he needs to leave, to breathe, to process. He doesn’t feel in control and he hates it. The heat and the burning and the _need_ to touch Ronan is so encompassing that he can’t seem to care about his grades, his injuries, his life problems. Just _Ronan_. Touching Ronan. Kissing Ronan. Fucking Ronan.

“I have to go,” Adam says, almost breathless. He turns and with effort walks, not runs, to the door to scramble back into his shoes. The last image his brain processes is Ronan, looking so damn concerned, so damn bewildered, as Adam fleas. He hates himself for it, but he knows he would hate himself more if he had continued to let himself lose control and did something else, something darker, something that would have hurt them both in the end.

***

Adam finds himself in the Shit-mobile idling in front of Gansey’s apartment. He didn’t consciously drive here. He just drove. In a way it makes sense this is where he’d end up. Gansey and Blue are his only true friends. At the same time, Adam doesn’t know how to confront them, his feelings, or his actions. But he is at his limit and he needs _something_.

_Like Ronan’s mouth._

It’s that very thought that makes him groan out loud in his car before he makes his way to Gansey’s front door.

The man himself answers moments after Adam rings the bell. He’s in his pajamas, wire frames on the tip of his nose, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Hey, Parrish,” he says, holding the door open for Adam. “I was just packing.”

As Adam follows Gansey inside he realizes he had forgotten what time of year it was. Gansey would be going to DC soon to spend Christmas with his family.

“Is Blue here?” Adam asks.

Gansey shakes his head. “Went back to Henrietta for the solstice a few days ago. I thought we told you that.”

They had. Adam’s brain just isn’t functioning properly at the moment.

“What’s going on?” Gansey asks, noticing Adam is buzzing with erratic energy.

The words tumble desperately out of Adam’s mouth, thick with his accent and panic.

“I kissed Ronan. I just… I wasn’t thinking. And then he panicked. And then he kissed me. And then I panicked. And now I’m here and I don’t know what I’m doing and I just need someone to shake some sense into me because I feel I have lost all control of my life.”

Gansey stares at Adam. Blinks twice. Pushes his glasses up his nose.

“You _kissed_ Ronan?” he asks. His voice is steady and calm. Adam was expecting Gansey to potentially freak out, but it seems he is taking this in stride. Adam nods. “And then he kissed you?” Adam nods again. “And then you ran away?” Adam swallows, and nods a third time.

“Shit.”

Adam barely notices Gansey having cussed; he is too distracted watching Gansey dash over to his cell phone in a panic. Gansey nearly topples over himself as he picks it up off the coffee table, dialing a number desperately, before putting the phone to his ear.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Gansey pants nervously out loud as the phone rings. “Ronan! Hey!”

And just like magic, President Gansey is switched on. His voice is calm, cheery, and casual despite having looked like he was about to have a heart attack mere seconds before.

“What are you up to?” Gansey asks innocently. “Yeah, you packed?” He waits for the answer. “I know you aren’t leaving for another few days, doesn’t mean you haven’t started packing.” There is a short reply. “Hey, now that’s offensive.” Gansey frowns and listens. “Yeah, Helen insists you come. The dinner is at my parent’s house.” Another pause. “Please do not refer to my sister that way,” Gansey chides. “Yes, you better come. No, no excuses, you promised.” Gansey listens. “Yeah, Blue already left. Okay, cool. Send Declan and Matthew my regards.” A quick pause. “Yep, see you Saturday.”

Gansey hangs up the phone and visibly deflates.

Adam’s brain is putting the pieces together, albeit slower than it usually would.

“You thought he’d react like last time,” Adam realizes aloud, thinking back to the incident, to Ronan disappearing into Kavinsky’s clutches. Gansey looks at him sternly.

“No, I think he learned a valuable lesson after getting roofied and almost raped.” Adam is shocked at how blunt Gansey is being. His friend is usually the most politically correct person he knows. “Quite frankly, I hadn’t a clue how Ronan would react to… to what you just told me happened. Fortunately, he hasn’t freaked out. Yet.”

Gansey has an unattractive furrow between his brows as he thinks.

“I thought you would be more surprised,” Adam admits. Gansey looks at him curiously.

“Surprised about what?”

“That me and Ronan kissed.” Adam pauses, reassessing Gansey’s responses. “Are you surprised?”

Gansey stares at Adam like he’s speaking to him in Yiddish.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Gansey bites his lip. “I think I may care less about what happened, and more about what may happen,” Gansey admits.

“And what do you think may happen?” Adam prods, his tone defensive.

Gansey sighs.

“I have known Ronan much longer than you.”

“You have,” Adam concedes.

Gansey stares at the phone still balanced in his palm.

“Don’t break him, Adam.”

Adam feels his stomach tense. His fingers start to twitch, entwine, clench and unclench.

Because there is a cruel implication in those words. And it is that Adam is capable of hurting Ronan. That Adam may not _care_ as much as Ronan does. That Adam is the heartless one between the two. It hurts because Adam would normally agree. Because Adam has always painted this picture of himself in his head of being too complicated, too unknowable, too academic, to ever be capable of something as abstract or ethereal as love.

Ronan, on the other hand, was clearly built for love. To receive it, to return it. It is why he broke when he lost the father he loved. It is why he remains broken when his own brother keeps those he loves away from him. It is why a boy with such sharp edges can unironically call a golden child like Gansey his best friend.

Gansey looks at Adam, both concerned and pensive. Adam can tell he is worried he just said the wrong thing to Adam, that Adam is now angry with him. What he said was cruel. But it wasn’t wrong.

“Are you in love with Blue?” Adam asks. He needs context. It is Adam’s nature to research what he doesn’t fully understand. This is research.

“Yes,” Gansey says, without even a trace of uncertainty.

“How do you know?”

“Because she makes me quiet.”

Gansey couldn’t have given Adam a more terrifying answer. It is the quietness that has been worrying him. How his brain goes silent when he’s with Ronan. When he’s thinking of Ronan. When he caught Ronan masturbating. When he plunged and brushed Ronan’s lips. When Ronan grasped his neck, and kissed him back.

Silence is a foreign concept to Adam. He never considered that his mind going quiet could be a good thing. He thought it meant he was broken. He thought it meant he was becoming dumb. But now that Gansey has said it, he considers it might mean something else entirely. Like peace. Like contentment.

Two more foreign concepts.

“I don’t want to break him,” Adam admits.

“He’s not as tough as he seems.”

“I’m not an idiot, Gansey.”

“I think you’re the opposite of an idiot,” Gansey clarifies. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just meant…”

Gansey sighs, kneads his lip with his thumb. Adam knows what he meant. It’s cruel. But not wrong.

“I don’t want to mess with his head,” Adam confesses. “I don’t want to set him off on another self-destructive rampage. Why do you think I’m talking to you? I don’t even know how I…” Adam trails off.

Gansey nods. He drops his phone onto the couch and steps up to Adam. Places a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Squeezes tight.

“I think…” Gansey says slowly, his hazel eyes warm and caring, more than Adam deserves. “I think that it’s about being honest with yourself. That’s all you can do.”

Adam takes a deep breath. Let’s the air slowly out of his lungs, feels his hands relax, unclench, and stay unclenched.

The truth: Adam likes Ronan. Aside from the physical lust that’s been driving him crazy, Adam genuinely likes Ronan. He likes driving with him. He likes playing video games with him. He likes studying next to him while Ronan aggressively listens to music. He likes Ronan’s creepy raven, his fancy car, his amazing art, and his fattening cooking. He likes Ronan’s sarcastic sense of humour and his dirty jokes. He likes Ronan’s eyes and the mystery of his tattoo. He likes how Ronan is fierce and rude, but also gentle and compassionate, and sometimes unexpectedly wise. He likes having Ronan’s approval and acceptance. And he really likes the way Ronan looks at him, like he’s worthy of affection. Of love.

“I think that’s what I needed to hear,” Adam says.

Gansey smiles. “I do my best. Now go back there and make things right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (well, the last part of it) is obviously based on chapter 36 from TRK. What bothered me about the original version of the chapter was that it was Gansey’s POV, and he was obviously being a protective big brother to Ronan, but at the expense of being a bit of a dick to Adam. And I kinda wish we had Adam’s perspective on that conversation because he was the one confessing after all. So I thought "fuck it", and just put in my AU headcanon version of that conversation from Adam's POV.
> 
> As usual, your comments are lovely and appreciated and gets my ass writing so I meet my personal deadlines. So thank you thank you thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: explicit sexual content  
> Unbeta'd

Adam gently taps his knuckles against Ronan’s bedroom door. When he got back home, he was both relieved and stressed to see the BMW still in the lot. When he entered the apartment, he saw Ronan’s jacket on the couch where he had left it earlier, his bedroom door closed.

Adam hates confrontations, but he owes Ronan an explanation. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t want to leave things on a note of rejection. Because Adam doesn’t want to reject Ronan. Quite the opposite if the adrenaline and lust thrumming in his veins is anything to go by.

Adam gets no answer. He presses his good ear against the door, closes his eyes. He hears faintly the base of loud EDM music. Ronan must have his earphones on, music loud enough for the sound to be leaking through.

Adam knocks hard and loud this time, hoping Ronan will notice. He waits a few seconds, hears nothing.

“Ronan! Please answer the door!” he yells, slamming his fist against it again and again.

He waits a breath, hoping, praying. Nothing.

Adam is about to just barge in uninvited, refusing to be ignored, when Ronan swings the door wide.

“What?” Ronan hisses, impatient, angry, confused. The speech Adam had been rehearsing in his head since he left Gansey’s dies on his lips. Too many emotions are written so plainly, so vulnerably, on Ronan’s face, it almost breaks Adam’s heart because he knows it is all his fault.

Adam decides then and there. Decides what he wants and decides he can have it. As long as Ronan is willing to give it, he is allowed to have it.

“Kiss me,” Adam requests in a haughty breath, losing himself in that intense gaze, embracing the blankness of his mind and letting his instincts take over.

Ronan’s eyes widen. His jaw works around his clenched teeth. He teeters on the boundary of his bedroom, his eyes taking Adam in, roaming up and down his face, searching for something. Adam tries to convey his sincerity on every inch of his skin. He wants this. He really wants this.

“Please. Kiss me,” he repeats when Ronan doesn’t move, the desperation in his voice plain as day.

_Please Ronan._

Ronan lets out a long breath, takes a step closer to Adam.

_Yes. Please._

He tilts his head to the side, considering Adam, his face no longer angry, but still unsure. Still not willing to trust. Adam knows he deserves this, but it hurts all the same.

“Kiss me,” Adam whispers for a third time, grabbing Ronan’s sleeve, pulling them closer together, tilting his chin up just right to close the gap, to press their lips together.

And Ronan’s restraint instantly dissolves. He is kissing Adam. Finally. Passionately. He grips Adam’s arms hard, pulls him flush against his chest.

Ronan kisses like he had never tasted anything as sweet as Adam’s mouth. Adam gets encompassed by those full lips, by a probing tongue. Ronan tastes like brandy: sweet and burning. Adam snakes his hands around his shoulders, letting his palm caress the pale exposed skin near his neck. The skin feels as milky smooth as it looks, and Adam has visions of pressing his tongue against it.

“Adam,” Ronan groans against his mouth. He can feel Ronan pant several breaths against his lips. “God, Adam.”

Ronan suddenly pulls away, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“What?” Adam asks, the sudden distance of their bodies more effective than a bucket of ice water. Adam mourns the contact instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Adam,” Ronan groans between his fingers. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“What?” Adam is not on the same wavelength. He thought he couldn’t be more clear. He wants this. How can Ronan not see he wants this?

Ronan drops his hands so he can look Adam straight in the eyes.

_Bluer than the sky._

“If I don’t stop now,” Ronan says around a swallow, “I won’t be able to. At all.”

Adam tilts his head, appraising Ronan. He loves the blush on Ronan’s cheeks. Ronan blushes so intensely since his skin is almost translucent. He wears his Northern Irish roots like a coat.

“Who says I’m going to want you to stop?” Adam asks with a grin. Adam finally sees what this is: Ronan is offering an out. Maybe in self-defence, maybe in self-destruction. Adam understands now part of Gansey’s meaning about breaking him. Ronan does not do things half-way. He is all in, and if Adam wants them both to survive this, he has to be all in too.

 Ronan’s eyes turn to slits.

“You don’t understand,” Ronan says, taking a menacing step back towards Adam.

“Explain it,” Adam challenges, lifting his head up. Ronan takes another step, reducing the gap between their bodies to almost nothing. Ronan reaches forward and takes Adams hand. He slowly brings the calloused fingers to his mouth, brushes the gentlest of kisses against Adam’s fingertips, before lowering his hand down, down, and pressing Adam’s palm against his groin.

Adam’s eyes widen. Ronan is rock hard in his jeans, he can almost feel Ronan’s pulse through the fabric. But Adam doesn’t break eye contact. He could swim in Ronan’s ice blue eyes. He already is.

“If I don’t stop now,” Ronan repeats, the words are almost a purr as he gently moves Adam’s palm against him. His eyelashes flutter and Adam can feel Ronan press his hips firm against his hand. “I won’t be able to,” he continues, his breath catching in his throat. “You don’t know what you do to me. What you’ve been doing to me. For months.”

At those words, Ronan straight up thrusts into Adam’s hand, rubbing himself as he holds Adam palm firm against him. Adam feels his own arousal go into overdrive. Something about Ronan’s forwardness sets his blood on fire.

Of his own volition, Adam turns his wrist and grabs Ronan’s crotch through his jeans. Ronan moans, his eyes slamming shut as a shudder of pleasure wracks his body.

“I know what I want,” Adam whispers, leaning close to Ronan’s face so his breath tickles Ronan’s lips. “And I want this,” he squeezes Ronan in his palm to emphasize his point, and the sound Ronan makes is closer to a whine.

“And I want this,” Adam adds as he closes the gap and takes Ronan’s mouth with his own. He shoves his tongue between Ronan’s lips, lets it swipe Ronan’s tongue before drawing away. Ronan’s eyes are still closed, and he chases Adam’s lips as Adam distances himself, making Adam smile.

“And I’ve been fantasizing of _this_ for months too,” Adam finishes by dipping his head and latching on to the creamy skin of Ronan’s neck, just where the tip of his tattoo hooks around his shoulder. He sucks, let’s his teeth graze, let’s his tongue lap and taste. Ronan tastes like sweat and cream, sweet and salty, and Adam knows he is probably as hard as Ronan is at this point.

“Fuck me,” Ronan gasps. Adam doesn’t know if he is genuinely asking or using the expression for dramatic effect, but either way, Adam is ready to oblige.

“Bed,” Adam growls into Ronan’s neck, his other hand seeking its way under Ronan’s shirt. He wants to mark every inch of Ronan’s flawless skin. But more importantly, he wants to see the tattoo.

Adam withdraws, grabs Ronan’s wrist, and leads him to his bedroom. He kicks the door open and throws Ronan onto his bed. Ronan’s eyes are wide. It’s the first time he’s been in Adam’s room, but he doesn’t seem capable of taking his eyes off Adam.

Adam’s brain is doing that thing again where it decides to go eerily quiet, focusing solely on soaking in Ronan Lynch. His body moves on autopilot. He throws off his shirt as he climbs onto the bed. He manoeuvres up Ronan’s body, straddling him.

“Off,” Adam commands, pinching Ronan’s shirt. He’s not usually so bossy, but he can’t help it. His higher faculties are completely shut down and he is thinking only with his cock, and quite frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck. It’s something Adam has never experienced, this pure animalistic lust, but he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying the shocked look on Ronan’s face as Ronan throws his black shirt against the wall, exposing that glorious white skin.

“Turn over,” Adam orders, shoving Ronan’s shoulder roughly. Ronan looks completely awestruck, but he obeys, twisting his body underneath Adam’s straddling thighs to lie on his belly.

 _Finally,_ Adam thinks, getting the full view of that amazing tattoo. Adam only needs one glance at the piece to know with certainty that it is a Ronan original. Because like all of Ronan’s other art, there is life and care crafted into each jagged edge, each sharp vine or claw or beak. It twists up Ronan’s spine, folding into Celtic knots, black abstract shapes begging to be discovered like a Rorschach.

Ronan cranes his neck to look up at Adam, but Adam is too engrossed by the tattoo to notice. He reaches out to the ink with his fingers, pressing the pads into Ronan’s right shoulder. He feels the muscles tremble against his touch. Ronan is a beautiful man, his back broad and cut of sharp lean muscle. But it’s nothing compared to the work of art that is his skin. Smooth, hairless, contrasting so perfectly against the dark, menacing barbs of his tattoo.

“Beautiful,” Adam gasps. He doesn’t notice Ronan close his eyes at the words, a blush spreading down his neck.

Adam leans down to press his lips against Ronan’s neck.

“Don’t move,” Adam tells him. He let’s his tongue lap gently at the bump of Ronan’s spine just below his skull before he starts his exploration.

Adam was completely serious when he said he had been fantasizing about lapping every inch of Ronan’s skin. His mouth makes fine work of Ronan’s back, leaving a trail of light kisses to Ronan’s left shoulder. When he meets the edge of the tattoo, Adam bites down.

Ronan gasps at the pain, but holds himself still. Adam sucks against the teeth marks he has left behind, pulling up the blood, bruising him.

“Fuck, Parrish,” Ronan moans.

“Quiet,” Adam commands, withdrawing to see his handiwork. The red is bright and in sharp contrast to the black ink and white skin. It’s Adam’s own version of art, and his eyes are loving the aesthetic.

_More._

Adam moves down Ronan’s back, kissing and licking and sucking. Ronan is squirming beneath him, grinding into the mattress, his teeth clenched, but Adam takes his sweet time painting his skin.

Only when Adam gets to the edge of Ronan’s jeans, the bulge of his ass, and sharp jut of Ronan’s hip, does he stop.

He sits on his heels and looks at Ronan. His back is a mosaic of blemishes, like blossoms growing at the tips of the branches of his tattoo, like a blooming tree spread against a backdrop of a winter sky. Adam smiles at his handiwork.

“Are you done?” comes Ronan’s voice, deep with desire. He is looking at Adam over his shoulder, his lids heavy, his breath ragged. Adam smiles.

“For now.”

“Good. My turn.”

Ronan moves so fast, Adam suspects he was just a victim of some judo attack as he is thrown onto his back. Ronan is suddenly leaning over him, panting, his pupils blown, looking down at Adam with the evilest of grins.

Ronan smashes his mouth against Adam’s, not gentle or kind, but desperate and hungry. Adam is okay with it, he’s feeling the same way.

Ronan pulls back, his smile wider than anything Adam has ever seen.

“Too much clothes,” Ronan whispers, and he grinds his hips against Adam’s to emphasize the point. The friction unleashes a wave of pleasure Adam was not expecting, causing him to buck.

“Shall I?” Ronan asks, looking down meaningfully at their pressed crotches.

“Yes, please,” Adam pants.

Ronan doesn’t need any more instructions. He scoots down Adam’s body and deftly undoes his fly. Adam watches Ronan lick his lips in anticipation as he pulls down Adam’s jeans and briefs. Adam hitches his hips to help. Ronan keeps tugging until the two offending articles of clothing are completely discarded. Ronan then deftly plucks off Adam’s socks, one at a time, and tosses them over his shoulder. He stands at the edge of the bed, looming over Adam’s naked sprawled form.

Adam watches those ice blue eyes roam his body. He feels exposed in a way he’s never felt before. His previous lovers have never laid him bear like that, never savoured his body with such intensity. Adam feels self conscious and has a need to cover himself, to hide.

“Adam,” Ronan whispers, his voice the gentlest breath in the air. Adam feels his insecurities melt at the way Ronan’s voice is tender and worshipful. He watches Ronan reach down, unzip his own jeans, push them down and off. His erection is bulging hungrily inside his black boxer briefs, which Ronan just as quickly sheds.

Now they’re on even playing field, Ronan just as exposed and pale in the faint daylight leeching into Adam’s room.

Adam is transfixed. Ronan’s cock is large and flushed and reaching towards Adam from a base of black hair. Adam feels his own lust peak, hating the distance between them.

“Come here,” Adam begs, his hand reaching out.

Ronan climbs back onto the bed, makes his way up Adam’s body, his fingers reaching and touching his calves, his thighs, his hand combing through Adam’s own pubes as he crawls higher and higher.

He pauses at Adam’s chest. There are scars there. Adam knows it. Knows them because they have been a part of him for years. Ronan’s eyes sweep left, right, up, down, trailing the scars.

Adam lifts a hand to cover them, but Ronan grabs his wrist and stops him.

“You’re a survivor,” Ronan says, something soft and tender in his voice. He dips his head down and places the softest of kisses on the long slash on Adam’s left ribs, caused by a broken beer bottle when he was in the eighth grade.

“They’re nothing to be proud of,” Adam grumbles. Ronan nips him in answer causing him to gasp.

“Scars are hot,” Ronan replies eloquently, his teeth visible in a shit-eating grin.

“Even yours?” Adam shoots back. Ronan’s smile vanishes and he sits up, looming over Adam’s exposed body. Ronan touches his left wrist, his fingers dipping under the leather bands.

“They remind me of what I almost lost,” Ronan replies softly.

“And what’s that?” Adam asks, leaning up on his elbows.

“Everything.”

Ronan drops his arm, his gaze going back to Adam. He reaches a hand out to cup Adam’s cheek, his thumb passing so gently against the freckles under his eye.

“Everything,” Ronan repeats, but it’s clear he means _This. I almost lost this._

Adam pulls Ronan down to his lips. Ronan shifts to lie himself directly on top of Adam, their bodies pressed close.

They kiss, every inch of skin in contact with the other. Lips, chests, thighs. Adam feels warmth. From Ronan’s breath, from Ronan’s body, from the adrenaline.

Adam is so distracted by the heat, those full lips, the weight on his body, the tongue pushing its way into his mouth, he is taken completely by surprise when he feels a firm grip on his cock.

“Shit,” Adam gasps, both from the shock and the pleasure that runs up his spine. Ronan has that grin on his face again, looking at Adam, drinking in his reaction. Ronan tugs his length again, this time watching Adam with eager eyes.

“Lynch,” Adam hisses between clenched teeth, his abdomen tensing.

“More?” Ronan asks, his thumb teasing the slit at the tip.

Adam doesn’t have the mental faculties to answer. Instead he reaches up, greedy, hungry, and pulls Ronan’s head back down to kiss, bite, lick.

“Adam,” Ronan giggles against his lips. Adam bucks up into Ronan’s hand, dismayed he’s no longer moving it along his shaft.

“Adam,” Ronan repeats, smiling as Adam bites into his neck.

“Ronan, _please,_ ” Adam begs into his skin, unsure why Ronan has stopped stroking him, stopped kissing him, but hating it.

Ronan grabs Adam’s chin in his other hand, his grip tight to pull Adam far enough away to look at him. He holds Adam’s face still, a challenge in his eyes. Adam is almost pouting.

“Listen to me,” Ronan says slowly, his smile widening with each word, his hand still pressed between their hips holding Adam’s dick, squeezing tight.

Adam tenses, swallows, nods, and waits for Ronan to continue.

“How many men have you been with?” Ronan asks.

Adam’s eyes widen. He feels his cheeks heat and his heart thrum nervously.

“None.”

The admission is almost painful for Adam, but he doesn’t want to lie. Instead, he holds their eye contact, waiting out his judgement. Ronan’s smile doesn’t falter, but he nods in understanding.

“Then I want this to be good for you,” Ronan says.

“I’ve been celibate for months,” Adam retorts. “I can’t promise this will last long.”

Ronan laughs quietly, the tremble of his body against Adam’s making pleasant vibrations in all the right places.

“If not long, at least good,” Ronan says, his grip on Adam’s chin slackening.

“Then stop talking,” Adam points out as he surges up to kiss Ronan once more. Ronan doesn’t let him, placing a firm palm on Adam’s chest and shoving him back against the bed. Adam glares, his dick getting impatient.

Ronan chuckles again at Adam’s expression, but keeps his palm firmly holding Adam down against the mattress. With a grin made for the devil, he starts shimmying his way down Adam’s body, until his face is hovering above Adam’s cock, still held fast in Ronan’s hand.

“Ro-”

The words get cut off as Ronan takes half of Adam’s length into his mouth.

Adam almost bites his tongue, squirming as heat and suction pull his mind to pieces.

Adam thinks he may be swearing, but he can’t tell if he is truly vocalizing anything other than moans as Ronan’s tongue glides along his shaft.

He stares up at the ceiling, letting the sensations take over, savouring the heat of Ronan’s eager mouth, letting his mind be blissfully quiet. Adam feels himself melting into the mattress. His eyes drift close as he settles into the sensations. His breathing is ragged, all his muscles are twitching. Tautness pulses in his belly with each of Ronan’s strokes, with each pass of his tongue, hand and mouth working together to make Adam come undone.

Adam tries to fight it, doesn’t want it to end, but his body is wound too tight, from the stress of his exams, from the trauma of his father’s fist, from the way he has been wanting Ronan’s mouth on him for so long.

His orgasm tears through him, choking the air from his lungs. He feels the pulsing of his cock against the roof of Ronan’s mouth. Ronan swallows him down without hesitation, his fist still pumping Adam as he claws the sheets beneath him.

When it ends, it’s like a first breath. Adam feels dazed, lost. He blinks, staring up at the ceiling. He has forgotten where he is, what he is doing, just that there is now a calm settling into his bones and with it a novel sensation.

_Peace._

“Adam.”

The voice is quiet and hoarse, but it pulls Adam back into his body, back into the moment. He looks down his body, sees Ronan’s head pillowed on his hip, two eyes almost glowing in the dimness of the room, staring up at him. The eyes are vibrant and curious.

“Sorry,” Adam manages to pant. He didn’t warn Ronan he was coming. He didn’t make a sound. He had simply drowned in the pleasure.

“Good?” Ronan asks. There is a waver in his voice. As if the answer could possible be unfavourable.

“Holy shit,” is Adam’s articulate reply. Ronan quirks an eyebrow. “Yes. Yes it was good. I don’t think I even lasted a minute, that’s how fucking good it was.”

Adam feels more than hears Ronan’s laughter against his hip. He eventually stops and crawls up the bed to lie next to Adam. He presses his body close, so much warm, milk white skin enveloping Adam. And a very large and insistent erection molded against Adam’s hip.

Ronan places a gentle kiss on Adam’s shoulder, inhales him deeply, and starts working himself with his hand.

“Ronan,” Adam says, almost in the tone of a question.

“Mmm?” Ronan replies, his hips gently thrusting into his hand, his nose nuzzling into Adam’s skin.

“Can I?” Adam asks tentatively. Ronan looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “I want to,” Adam clarifies. “Let me touch you.”

Ronan smiles at Adam, something devilish and teasing.

“If you insist,” he says, kissing Adam’s cheek. He stills next to Adam’s body, removes his hand from himself, and watches Adam patiently.

Adam turns to face Ronan, mirroring his position. He lets his hand glide down Ronan’s chest, along his hip, through his coarse pubic hairs until he can grasp the hot, hard length of his arousal.

Adam knows what he personally likes, but he hasn’t a clue what Ronan likes. He’s never done this before on anyone but himself. But he has decided to let his brain be silent, to just go with it. He starts stroking Ronan.

Ronan’s eyes flutter closed again, his breath catches in his throat.

Adam uses his thumb to touch the tip, feels it moist with pre-cum, and helps spread it along Ronan’s shaft, making his hand glide more smoothly. Ronan seems to be subconsciously inching closer and closer to Adam, his eyes still closed. Soon his mouth is right there, his breath tickling Adam’s face.

“Is this okay?” Adam asks huskily, letting his lips gently touch Ronan’s as he speaks. For answer Ronan thrusts into Adam’s hand.

Adam smiles as he picks up the pace. Ronan’s hips continue to twitch into Adam’s palm, getting slicker by the second as Ronan’s tip continues to leak beads of fluid.

It’s crude, by surprisingly intimate. Ronan is so close, but not touching Adam. Just trusting Adam. Just letting Adam touch him.

Ronan finally opens his eyes to look at Adam as he fucks into his hand.

Adam can’t help but stare. Their faces are so close Adam can barely make out his expression, but it doesn’t change the fact that Ronan is hands down one of the most beautiful people Adam has ever met. He wants to see those porcelain features twist in ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Adam whispers, squeezing Ronan a bit tighter. Ronan groans, his eyes slamming shut.

“Cum. I want to see it. I want to _feel_ it,” Adam presses on. Apparently, Ronan is into the dirty talk because his thrusts get faster, more desperate.

“Fuck, Ronan, I want your seed all over me. Then you can lick me clean,” Adam says, letting his tongue dart out and lap teasingly against Ronan’s lips. “Just like that.”

That seems to do it. Ronan cries as his orgasm hits, his whole body spasming and curling into Adam. He feels the splash of Ronan’s sperm against his stomach, feels Ronan’s cock pulsing in his palm. Ronan’s hands grab Adam’s wrist, stilling his stroking as Ronan rides the aftershocks. Ronan is panting hard, his forehead pressed against Adam’s.

“Fuck,” Ronan says as he slowly catches his breath. The grip on Adam’s wrist starts to slacken, and Ronan finally opens his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ronan repeats, but with more emphasis. Adam smirks.

“You…” Ronan begins, his eyes shrinking to slits. “Have a dirty mouth.”

Adam straight up bursts into laughter: at both Ronan’s expression and at the irony that it was Ronan’s amazing, filthy mouth that had given him a life-changing blow-job.

Adam lets the mirth and the endorphins take control. Everything is so quiet. And a bit sticky. Yet he feels so good. When his laughter subsides and he puts a few more inches of distance between them so he can properly see Ronan’s face; he finds a smile on those swollen lips. Not the devilish one from before. But something calmer. Something sweeter. Something private, just for him.

 _He doesn’t do things half-way,_ Adam’s brain reminds him. _Don’t break him._

Adam reaches up, touches the sharp bone of Ronan’s cheek, savouring that gentle smile that makes Ronan look suddenly so young.

_Okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good things come (cum?) to those who wait.
> 
> I have a love/hate relationship with writing smut. I aim less for the explicit and more to trying to get it to fit the mood of the fic (i.e. a bit awkward, a bit emotional, and a bit snarky).  
> Anyway, I may be a bit late with the next update (I will try not to, but I am going away this weekend so less writing time).
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and being an awesome fandom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: mild sexual content. References of suicide attempt  
> Unbeta'd

Ronan inhales slowly form his nose. His body feels so warm and relaxed; it’s a state of being he doesn’t encounter often. His eyes flutter open. He had been asleep. Actually asleep.

Ronan doesn’t sleep much these days. And when he does sleep, it’s never well. He has been haunted by nightmares for years now. They come, they go. There are things in the dark shadows of Ronan’s dreams. Things with many beaks and sharp claws that want to tear him to pieces. Demons that look like giant hornets that want to kill his friends. And there is that figure, in the shadows, with the tire iron. Waiting to reunite him with his father.

Ronan is too old to be afraid of bad dreams or the monsters that hide in them. When he was a teenager he decided to stop being afraid by becoming the monster himself. It seemed better to have the world fear him than vice versa. It didn’t work out well for him.

The reason being as he got older, the world’s monsters changed.

Addiction became his monster. Depression. Suicide.

Self-loathing became a familiar monster for a very long time.

He forgot what it was like to be happy. Only over the last two years had he started to remember. Thanks to Gansey. Thanks to Matthew. When she was lucid, thanks to his mom.

And now, there was someone else. Someone curled next to him on an unfamiliar bed.

_Am I dreaming?_

Ronan is allowed to doubt reality when it has been so cruel to him for so long, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, it is kind. Even the nightmares sometimes start off pleasant. What makes them terrifying is often the harsh contrast when pleasant becomes hell.

He remains suspicious, looking at the sleeping form of the beautiful boy who took Gansey’s room in September. Of the painfully adorable freckles that paint his cheeks (and now that Ronan has seen more, has seen _all_ , he knows those freckles kiss his arms, his back, his thighs).

How can Ronan accept a reality where this intelligent, brave, enigma of a boy named Adam Parrish wanted to kiss him. Wanted to touch him. Had even said those words aloud. It had to have been a dream. After months of yearning. After the agony of being so close yet so far. After _everything_.

Ronan is not used to getting his heart’s desire. But Adam is there, asleep, so close to Ronan he can feel his body heat. Ronan feels his lips curl up of their own volition. He watches his own hand reach out and touch a strand of that messy hair ( _so soft_ ). Ronan doesn’t know what time it is. The sky is dark outside Adam’s window. He remembers light still filtering through Adam’s windows after he had cleaned them up, before they held each other and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

_God, that really happened?_

Yes, it had happened. He has the proof right in front of his face, yet it still takes effort to believe it.

 _He is so beautiful_.

Ronan has never been a poet; words were not his forte. Ronan expresses himself in action. It’s why he got into art. Why his hands can shape and mold the world as he experiences it. Because trying to verbalize the hurricane inside is impossible. Instead he painted it. Sculpted it. Sketched it. Whatever he could when his tongue turned to sandpaper. It’s how he survived withdrawal. The images he created from that time in his life were so haunting, he had tried to destroy them, but he suspects Declan has them hidden away somewhere for future blackmail.

Rehab would had been insufferable had they not encouraged him to paint. Gansey seemed to have enjoyed bringing him canvases and new brushes, just as an excuse to visit (which he never needed).

Ronan lies in Adam’s tiny bed, remembering that conversation with Gansey, when it was first suggested that art could not only save his life, but become his life.

_“You know,” Gansey said slowly, staring at Ronan’s newest edition in his sterile dorm room. The painting was a storm at sea: a single boat braving the crashing waves, a hint of sunlight breaking through the angry clouds, beckoning salvation. “Why not apply to a fine arts program?”_

_Ronan grunted._

_“Seriously, why not?”_

_“Dick, how many fucking times do I have to tell you and my inane brother that I am not going to college?”_

_“This isn’t about getting a degree,” Gansey explained diplomatically. “This is about you being happy. I think you would enjoy it.”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Ronan grumbled, looking at the canvas, the boat, still trapped but teased by what could be beyond the storm. “I’m stuck here.”_

_“Not forever,” Gansey said, as if it was fact. As if he believed whole heartedly that Ronan wouldn’t fall off the wagon, that he was done with all the darkness. Gansey had always been more confident in his successful recovery than himself._

_Ronan looked down at his left arm. The scars were not fading as much as he hoped, even though it had been months. He would have to cover them._

_“Where?” Ronan asked. He didn’t know why he was bothering pursuing this crazy line of thought, probably because it was Gansey and he could never refuse Gansey._

_“Anywhere!” Gansey said airily._

_“Not anywhere,” Ronan sighed. “You think Declan would let me take one step out of D.C.?”_

_“He might,” Gansey said hesitantly. Ronan knew even Gansey didn’t buy it. “He might if you were with me.”_

_Ronan scoffed._

_“Would you ever consider it?” Gansey asked._

_“What?”_

_“Coming to Massachusetts?”_

_“I’d live anywhere as long as I didn’t have to see Declan’s stupid face every day.”_

_“Then it’s settled.”_

_“Nothing is settled!” Ronan spat with aggravation. “I’m in this program for at least twelve months. Maybe more. I didn’t even finish high school, how can I apply to a college?”_

_“You just said you have twelve months,” Gansey remarked. “Might as well use it to get your GED and make a portfolio.”_

_“Uh huh, and just like that I’m a college boy in Boston living it up with you?”_

_“Why not?”_

_Ronan sighed. Gansey’s naïve enthusiasm was as annoying as it was endearing._

_“And which school did you had in mind?”_

_“Any school. Boston U. Massachusetts college of Art and Design. Hell, apply to Harvard!”_

_Ronan laughed._

_“I’m serious,” Gansey entreated._

_“You think Harvard would take a high school drop out, suicidal, drug addicted criminal?”_

_“For the record, you have never been convicted for anything.”_

_“For fuck’s sake, Gansey, that’s hardly the point!”_

_“Well, you never know unless you try. Besides, I’d bet you money that if you somehow got into Harvard, Declan would agree to let you leave the state.”_

_“Are you fucking kidding me? If I got into Harvard, Declan would shit his pants and then eat it.”_

_Gansey smiled._

_It terrified Ronan because he knew what that smile meant. Gansey only smiled like that, all teeth and bravado and charm, when he knew he was about to get exactly what he wanted._

_“Well there you go,” Gansey said, pulling out his phone. “Let’s get you registered for your GED.”_

“Hey.”

Ronan blinks, the memories evaporating. Adam is looking at him, big blue eyes inquisitive and probing. Adam looks at Ronan like a scientist would: something to be dissected, piece by piece, until it was understood.

Adam has yet to realize Ronan is a very simple creature. There is heat pooling in his crotch. That’s how simple Ronan is: one look from Adam and he’s horny. One word and he’s hard. It’s almost pathetic.

“Hey,” Ronan replies, his voice rough from sleep.

Adam smiles, inches towards Ronan, presses a kiss to his lips. Ronan’s heart is picking up speed.

_It wasn’t a dream._

Adam is about to break the kiss, but Ronan doesn’t let him. He grasps Adam’s shoulder to hold him close, and deepens the kiss, spreading Adam’s lips open, pushing his tongue in to taste.

Adam laughs, pulling away.

“What?” Ronan asks.

Adam bites his lip, almost bashfully. It is the most sexual thing Ronan has ever seen.

Well, probably not, but in that moment it feels like it.

“What?” Ronan asks again, needing to close the space between their bodies. When he does, he feels it. “Ah.”

Adam is as hard as he is, if not harder. Their bodies slide together so pleasantly, Ronan’s breath catches.

“I told you it had been a while,” Adam confesses with a shrug.

“I’m pretty sure it’s only been a few hours.”

“Hilarious,” Adam says, and bucks into Ronan. Ronan hisses.

“Careful, Parrish,” he growls. He rolls onto Adam, shoving him down into the bed. Adam’s thin sheet slides off his body, leaving them bare before one another. Ronan watches Adam stare. It’s nice not to be the one staring for a change. Adam’s eyes seem to admire Ronan’s body. Ronan would be lying if he said he didn’t work hard for it. But at the same time, there wasn’t much to do in rehab aside from painting and lifting weights.

Adam’s hand reaches up so slowly, as if he is unsure he has permission to touch. Ronan’s eyes widen. He’s noticed Adam’s hands before. Long, tapered fingers, prominent knuckles, tanned and calloused. His hands are both rough and elegant at the same time, and Ronan lives for those kinds of contradictions.

They also feel very nice when Adam passes them lightly over his skin. He touches Ronan as gently as a feather. It tickles more than anything, but Ronan holds himself still over Adam. A part of him wonders if Adam is comparing his body to that of a woman’s. Ronan is Adam’s first male partner. The reveal both pleased and worried him earlier, especially since Ronan is archetypically masculine. He wonders briefly if Adam misses the soft curves of a woman under his hands. He doesn’t worry long.

“Fuck, Ronan,” Adam breathes out with admiration, one large hand curving around his ribs to climb his back, the other letting fingers trace the ripple of his stomach muscles. “Are you even real?”

Ronan laughs. “Are you?”

He leans down, kisses Adam again, let’s his fingers tangle in that soft, dusty hair.

Their kissing starts getting heavy, thick with their lust, their dicks eagerly pressed between them. Before they get too lost in each other’s bodies, Ronan needs to ask a question.

He pulls away, Adam blushing furiously beneath him.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” he asks.

“Huh?”

Adam seems a little dazed from the kissing, which makes Ronan proud. But this is important.

“Christmas. That holiday of mass consumerism. It’s this weekend. What are you doing?”

“Oh.” Adam seems to deflate a little. “Probably catching up on sleep.” Adam suddenly frowns. “I should really go to the police station…”

“Come to D.C. with me,” Ronan blurts out. Anything was better than where that train of thought was going.

“What?” Adam asks.

“Come to D.C. with me,” he repeats, smiling. “Aren’t you dying to experience a Lynch family Christmas?”

“That sounds like a terrifying thought,” Adam replies with a quirked brow.

“You’ve already met my brothers.”

“Yeah, the blonde seemed very friendly. The older one seemed…”

“Full of shit?” Ronan supplies. Adam suppresses a smile and shrugs.

“Matthew is the best. And no one likes Declan, so you can be a dick to him if you want.”

“I don’t think being a dick to the big brother of the guy I’m sleeping with is the best idea,” Adam retorts.

“Shame. Teasing Declan is a Lynch family tradition.”

“I doubt that,” Adam replies, but finally let’s the smile loose despite his efforts.

“Still. Why sit in this apartment alone when you can have terrible catered food with me?”

“You really suck at selling this,” Adam points out.

“It would also give me a reason to bail on the Gansey family dinner Saturday,” Ronan adds.

“Oh, I get it now. I’m just an excuse to get out of your other social engagements?” Adam huffs dramatically. Ronan knows Adam’s teasing, but he glares all the same.

“Then be my date instead.”

“Your date? To a formal Gansey function?”

Adam’s lip quirks. Both young men know that despite airs of being as politically correct as possible, the right-wing, republican, Gansey household would not particularly enjoy the notion of a homosexual couple crashing Christmas dinner. Gansey has known Ronan was gay for ages and never had a problem with it, but Ronan would be lying if he said he never heard any borderline offensive comments leave the mouth of Richard Campbell Gansey the Second amidst his fellow wasps.

“Gansey would be so happy,” Ronan argues. “Plus, you can protect me from his sister.”

Helen Gansey scares Ronan. She is sharp as a blade and capable of being both cruel and clever. Ever since they were kids he’s never quite figured out if he is perpetually the butt of Helen’s subtle jokes. Quite frankly, he’d rather not know.

Adam is suddenly pensive.

“Have you met her?” Ronan asks.

“Yeah,” Adam nods. “She’s pretty hot. In that scary, dragon-lady way.” Ronan is glaring again. “She would have totally been my babysitter fantasy,” Adam admits with a shrug.

Ronan pinches Adam’s nipple.

“Ouch! Really?” Adam hisses.

“I am literally sitting on top of you naked,” Ronan points out. “Please refrain from talking about your Helen Gansey fantasies in my presence, or you’re going to have to deal with this,” and Ronan grabs Adam’s cock and squeezes, causing Adam to let out a startled squeak, “on your own.”

Adam and Ronan glare at each other for a breath, before they both start laughing. Ronan cuts Adam’s giggles off by pressing their lips together.

“Okay, Parrish. One last time,” he says, moving his lips down to nuzzle Adam’s neck, hand starting to slowly stroke his cock. “Come home with me for Christmas?”

“It’s hard to say no in this position,” Adam pants as Ronan’s clever fingers deftly coax him back to full erection.

“Then say yes,” Ronan suggests, kissing the sharp edge of Adam’s jaw.

“Yes.” Adam moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Finished the chapter on time. Next up is Christmas with the Lynches and more of Ronan's dirty laundry.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: graphic description of murder. Angst. Declan Lynch being Declan Lynch... that is to say being both a douchebag and a good brother at the same time.

The BMW pulls up to an apartment complex that glints in the moonlight. The long drive from Boston took less time than Adam had expected. Partially because Ronan drives like a crazy person, and partially because every time Adam peeked into the driver’s seat, he would see those handsome features in a rare state of meditation and time would be lost to him.

Ronan parks the car in the garage and silently exits the vehicle. Adam follows, stretching his stiff muscles and cracking his back with an audible pop. He watches Ronan take their bags from the trunk, a scowl suddenly on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asks, stepping next to Ronan to carry his own bag. Ronan doesn’t let him.

“Nothing,” Ronan replies quickly, slamming the trunk closed.

“You look like you are about to get a colonoscopy,” Adam points out.

“That’s what dinner with Declan Lynch is like,” Ronan explains, leading the way to the elevator without further comment.

Adam feels nerves start to prickle his skin. The brief encounter with Declan in their apartment was hardly that painful. But he remembers the conversation Ronan had with Gansey, remembers what Declan is keeping from Ronan, and wonders if there are hidden motives at play.

The elevator ride is in silence, Ronan still looking bothered by something. Adam realizes Ronan has pressed the button for the penthouse and Adam braces himself for the opulence he is about to find.

The elevator doors open to a hallway with a lush carpet and abstract paintings on the wall. Ronan steps out and leads Adam to the first door on the right. He presses the doorbell and sighs.

The door swings open and Matthew Lynch bounds out, nearly knocking Ronan over to hug him.

“Matt, seriously, I’m holding like twelve bags,” Ronan says through a chuckle. Matthew lets go of him with a bashful smile.

“Sorry. Let me take some of th-” Matthew stops talking when he notices Adam standing awkwardly next to Ronan. “Oh! Hey!” A new smile breaks across Matthew’s face, showing his dimples. “Your name was Adam, right?”

Adam nods, waves his hand in greeting.

“Nice, we never have guests for Christmas,” Matthew adds airily. “Come in!”

Matthew grabs some bags from Ronan, chucks the door open wider with his hip and scurries inside.

“Declan! Ronan brought a friend!” he yells as he unceremoniously drops the bags in the foyer.

Adam’s brain quickly processes that his presence is clearly unexpected, but before he worries about it too much, he is immediately distracted by the luxury of the apartment.

If you had asked sixteen-year-old Adam what wealth looked like, it would be this apartment. Everything within it is modern and crisp. Adam follows Ronan through the foyer. The art on the bright white walls provides a balanced splash of colour to the dark furniture. Adam gets a glimpse of the kitchen as they stride past, and he sees a woman in a chef’s jacket chopping vegetables. The appliances are state of the art stainless steel. The counter tops look like granite or marble. Adam follows Ronan into a sitting room. The couches are black leather. The coffee table and lamp stands are a deep mahogany wood. And sitting in a very comfortable chair that may be an authentic Le Corbusier is none other than Declan.

He is reading a dossier of some sort, which he quickly shuts and tosses onto the nearby ottoman as the three young men step into the room.

Declan doesn’t speak, but raises an eyebrow in a gesture that reminds Adam so much of Ronan, he has to fight down a laugh.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing guests,” Declan says, his voice even and hiding his emotions.

“I didn’t realize I had to get your permission,” Ronan snaps back. Declan shoots Ronan a glare, but quickly tames his features as he stands up and offers Adam his hand.

“Welcome to my home, Adam,” he says politely. Adam takes his hand and gets to experience that impressive handshake once again.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Adam says, shooting Ronan his own glare. “I didn’t realize I was an uninvited guest.”

“I invited you,” Ronan says nonchalantly, before collapsing onto the couch.

“You are welcome here, Adam,” Declan reassures, offering a small smile. “Feeding you Christmas dinner is the least I can do after what you did for my brother.”

Now it is Adam’s turn to raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Oh, Ronan only _wishes_ I hadn’t heard about his ill-advised encounter with Kavinsky,” Declan explains. Ronan groans. “We’ll have words about that later,” Declan warns.

“Gansey is a fucking snitch,” Ronan grumbles.

“Gansey is doing exactly what he promised me he would do,” Declan clarifies. “As per our agreement.”

Ronan rolls his eyes, but that seems to be the end of the conversation.

“Wanna see your room?” Matthew chirps in cheerily.

Adam darts a glance at Ronan, who seems to be straight up pouting at this point.

“Sure,” Adam replies.

Matthew leads Adam out of the sitting room, down more halls decorated with more subdued art. It is then that Adam realizes that none of the art on the walls is Ronan’s, which seems odd, considering his brothers live here.

Adam is taken to a very large room with a very large bed. The floor is plushily carpeted and there is even an on-suite bathroom. It is a room nicer than any hotel he has ever stayed at, and he feels like he isn’t good enough for it.

“I’ll bring your bags,” Matthew offers before skipping away. Adam does a tour of the room, opening the large dressers, looking at the spines of the books in the single, small bookshelf. What does catch his eye is a photo on one of the night stands. It’s clearly a family photo, three young boys with bright blue eyes smiling into the camera. There is a woman holding the smallest of the boys. She has blond hair like the child in her arms, perfect teeth, skin the colour of cream. Next to her is a man that makes Adam do a double take. He looks so much like Ronan, it could be none other than his father. The man’s hair is longer than Ronan’s: dark strands that have a slight curl to them. The shark-like smile is the same, as are those ice blue eyes. The other major differences between Ronan and this man are the crow’s feet around the man’s eyes and that his face is narrower and slightly thinner, the jaw not as square. Also, the man looks so happy, joy and mischief emanating form every pore. While Ronan…Ronan…

Adam hears the bedroom door click close and quickly turns. He expects to see Matthew, but it is Ronan standing inside the room with him, holding Adam’s bags.

“How chivalrous,” Adam says with a teasing smile. Ronan drops the bags without comment and closes the distance between them in an instant.

Ronan leans down, Adam tilting his head up and to the side to meet his lips thinking Ronan is going in for a kiss, but Ronan reaches around Adam and plucks the photo from the night stand. Ronan examines the picture, his face blank, his eyes wide and pensive.

“It’s you, right?” Adam asks, feeling he may have glimpsed something private. “You and your family?”

Ronan grunts his assent, his eyes not leaving the photo.

“You look just like your dad,” Adam comments, suddenly worried. Adam doesn’t know much about Ronan’s family history. He knows his father is dead, and the death had affected Ronan severely. He knows Ronan’s mother is in special care, and Ronan is not allowed to visit without supervision. He knows Declan looks after Matthew, the two brothers living in D.C. while Ronan is at Harvard. He knows Ronan avoids the topic like it’s pure poison to his soul. Adam wants to know. He wants to know everything about this dark, mysterious man. But he doesn’t know how to ask. Doesn’t know if he has a right.

Ronan sighs and places the photo back on the counter. He looks at Adam, their eyes locking, a silent message passing between them.

Ronan moves to sit on the bed, leans his elbows on his knees, bows his head, and lets his hands run along the back of his shaved skull. His knee starts shaking, and he won’t look at Adam, just the floor. Adam is perplexed, but watches Ronan and his restless energy.

“Adam,” Ronan croaks. His voice startles Adam. Adam approaches Ronan, crouches before him. He wants to reach out, grasp Ronan’s hand in comfort, but isn’t sure if that would be okay. Adam wishes he knew the rules of their relationship. It’s too new to be sure of anything. He doesn’t even know if he should be calling it a relationship.

Ronan looks up at Adam, his face twisted in pain. Ronan’s eyes are seeing something Adam can’t, and it isn’t pleasant.

Adam swallows and goes for it. He grasps Ronan’s hands and squeezes.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Adam reassures.

Ronan nods, lets his thumb caress the back of Adam’s knuckles.

“My father was murdered.”

Ronan says the words in one exhale, a slight tremble in his shoulders. Adam sucks in a breath. The news is jarring and terrible, yet Ronan is determined to tell him the whole story no matter how difficult the task may be. Nothing can stop Ronan Lynch when he sets his mind to something.

***

_In most stories, murder happens in a violent way on a violent day. A rainstorm is usually appropriate. A set-up in a kitchen or a dark alley or under the full moon._

_In this story, murder happened on a Tuesday. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. Ronan Lynch had spent a good part of an hour skateboarding with Noah and Gansey. Well, Gansey wouldn’t be caught dead stepping onto a skateboard, but was happy to read while the other two boys tried some kickflips that ended in the predictable scraped knee, torn shirt, and howling laughter._

_Ronan was sixteen-years-old, high on life, and trying to not resent the tie he had to wear for the eight-hour school day. Said tie was currently wrapped around Ronan’s head like a headband._

_“You look like a hooligan,” Gansey huffed. Noah giggled, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Ronan kindly gave Gansey the finger._

_“It’s very nineties. I dig it,” Noah said._

_“I rather the hair accessory than the noose,” Ronan added, smirking. When Ronan was sixteen, he had hair. Lots of it. Thick, dark curls, just like his father, darker than both his brothers’. The curls stood up wildly underneath the head tie._

_Gansey shut his book with a dramatic snap, raising to his feet and stretching. His cardigan rode up, showing a strip of sun kissed skin. Ronan swallowed and looked away, grabbing his board._

_“I, unfortunately, must leave you two gentlemen,” Gansey said with mock formality. Or maybe it wasn’t mock. He was a Gansey, after all._

_“Crew?” Noah asked, his face dropping like an abandoned puppy._

_“I wish,” Gansey said with a frown. “Got a text from Helen. Mom needs me to be pretty for a dinner party.”_

_“That’s a lost cause,” Noah giggled, poking Gansey in his belly._

_“Hey, I have been informed I am very pretty,” Gansey said, giving Noah a flirty wink._

_“Yes, like when Helen dressed you up as Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween when we were ten, you definitely worked that skirt,” Ronan teased. Gansey glared._

_“I don’t buy it, red would drain out Gansey’s complexion. He’s definitely more of a neutral tone kind of guy,” Noah remarked._

_“Tell that to his collection of ugly polo shirts,” Ronan added._

_“Says the guy who only wears black,” Gansey snapped back._

_“Yeah, sorry Gansey, but I’m with Ronan on this one. Salmon and canary yellow are_ not _doing you any favors.”_

_“Okay, I’ve had enough of this abuse,” Gansey sniffed before turning on his heel to head back to his shockingly orange Camaro._

_“Remember, no black pants with brown shoes!” Noah called after him. Gansey didn’t deign to reply._

_“The old man always has such a stick up his ass,” Ronan said with a smirk. Noah nudged Ronan’s shoulder amiably._

_“Actually, the old man isn’t the only one that needs to bail,” Noah said. “My sister has a recital tonight and mom will kill me if I skip out on another one.”_

_“God, you both and your annoying sisters,” Ronan grumbled._

_“I’d take_ both _Helen-the-ice-queen and my two sisters over one Declan Lynch any day.”_

_“Touché.”_

_The boys shared a smile before Noah headed over to his own bright red Mustang._

_Ronan sighed. He made his way to the blue Volvo. He hated this car. Partially because it used to be Declan’s. Partially because it was not made for speed. And Ronan lived for speed._

_Despite his automotive restraints, he still managed to make it back to Singer Falls in record time by going a good 15 mph over the speed limit._

_Ronan pulled into the driveway and noticed the charcoal BMW already there. A jolt of excitation panged through his body. Niall Lynch was supposed to be in Ireland on business until Thursday. For some reason, he was home early._

_Eager to greet his father, Ronan darted out the car and rushed towards the front door of the Barns. As he stepped past the BMW, his foot squelched in something thick and wet._

_Ronan skidded to a halt, looked down onto the dirt driveway. There was a small puddle of something dark and red oozing from the other side of the car._

_Ronan’s eyes widened. He knew what blood looked like._

_Ronan’s initial though was that his father had hit an animal as he had pulled up to the house. It was possible. Even though there was too much blood for it to be something small like a squirrel or a rabbit. Even though the car was undamaged to have hit something large like a deer, the only feasible thing that could have produced that much blood._

_Ronan made his way around the BMW, following the blood trail to stand in front of the car. The blood had led him to the body of a man lying in front of the bumper near the passenger side._

_Ronan stared. At the black curls matted to a crushed skull. At the blue eyes, just like his own, open wide and unblinking. At the mouth still open, as if the man was about to scream. The man’s left forearm was stretched out and at an impossible angle, almost like he was reaching towards Ronan._

_Next to the body was a tire iron, sitting on the gravel, blood covering the edge of the glinting metal._

_Ronan fell to his knees, all thoughts forgotten, all emotions roaring in him at once._

_“Dad,” he barely choked out. His body was trembling. He didn’t even feel the sticky blood soaking through his pants._

_“Dad,” he gasped again. His vision was so blurry, he could barely see his father’s handsome features, twisted in fear instead of their usual delight. Ronan grabbed his father, pulled him into his arms, held him close. He was still warm, still limber. It felt like his father, not a corpse…not a thing._

_Ronan shook and cried and held onto his father’s body for dear life. It was probably twenty minutes he knelt there before Declan found him. By then, the body was no longer warm and no longer limber. In his very own arms it had transformed from his father into a dead object._

_It took Declan, Gansey and two police officers to pry Ronan away from the body. When Ronan’s mother showed up, she fainted as soon as she saw the blood and the yellow tape, as if she knew without even having to see what was left of Niall Lynch. Declan wouldn’t let Matthew near the scene, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the back of the ambulance that held their mother’s sleeping form._

_All these things happened around Ronan, but he didn’t notice any of it. There was no point. He was covered in blood and tears and although on the outside he was crying and trembling and being held and cooed in the comfort of Gansey’s arms, on the inside he was nothing. He was empty and broken and nothing mattered to him. Niall Lynch was Ronan’s world and Niall Lynch was dead. Which meant, in a way, Ronan Lynch was dead too._

***

Adam swallows. His hands are balled into fists on his lap. Ronan sits next to him on the bed. Still looking at the floor, having told the story of the worst day of his life.

And as a result, Adam hates himself.

Logically, Adam can understand grief and loss. But the thought of being sixteen and stumbling upon Robert Parrish’s body with his skull bashed in would have brought Adam a sick sense of relief, not grief or loss. Adam can’t fathom what life would have been like to have a father he adored and loved him in kind. Adam wants to empathize with Ronan. But the notion of fatherly love is something he will never be able to share with him.

Instead, Adam wraps an arm around Ronan’s shoulders, pressing himself closer. Ronan lets him, leaning down to tuck his head in the crux of Adam’s neck.

“I lost myself after that,” Ronan breathes. Adam nods.

“Mom never recovered. She became catatonic. Barely responded to anything. We had to hire a fulltime nurse. Sometimes she’ll talk to us when we visit. Other times… it’s like talking to a wall.”

Ronan straightens, turns to look at Adam.

“We will probably go visit her tomorrow. For Christmas.” Ronan chews his bottom lip. Adam nods again. “Then the Gansey’s in the evening,” Ronan adds. “I hope you brought a suit.”

Ronan stands, his back to Adam, looking straight ahead. He slowly turns back to the family portrait, reaches a hand out to it, but stops himself. He drops his hand.

“Dinner is at seven. Feel free to use the shower.”

Ronan makes his way to the door.

“Thanks,” Adam says, and feels himself blush. Ronan turns back to him, looking at him curiously. “For telling me,” Adam clarifies. “I… I’m sorry about your father. Truly.”

Ronan nods, then let’s himself out.

***

Truth be told, Adam is almost disappointed at how uneventful dinner is. The chef Declan hired did a pretty good job at a full Turkey dinner. Adam ate his fill, talking about Harvard and Medical School with Declan, casually chatting about video games with Matthew. Desperately trying to not stare longingly at Ronan who remained fairly somber during the whole meal. Apparently Ronan’s surly silence was nothing novel to his brothers, who carried on as if Ronan was not there and as if Adam was the most interesting person either them had ever met.

Declan was polite, jovial, and charming during the whole evening. Adam wasn’t sure if Declan had just accepted Adam as a friend of Ronan’s and was simply trying to make him feel welcomed, or knew more than he let on. He hoped the former. The more Declan asked seemingly innocent questions at dinner, the more Adam felt he was building up to something horrible. But Adam is able to acknowledge that he may be biased against Declan just based on Ronan’s personally feelings towards his brother. He wants to give Declan a chance, get to know the man who is everything Adam once thought he wanted to be: handsome, smart, rich, loved. Declan is the embodiment of the men on the cover of GQ magazine he had always coveted.

And he was currently making Adam a decaf cappuccino on his NesCafe machine. Adam wanted to laugh at the pretentiousness of it all.

“What is the fucking point of a decaf coffee?” Ronan asked, the first words he spoke in the last hour.

“Some of us don’t want to be up all night on a caffeine high.”

“Shame, I have a few good uses for insomnia,” Ronan says with a smirk. Adam kicks Ronan from under the table.

The innuendo does not escape Adam. Which is why when he crawls into the queen size bed in the guestroom alone, knowing Ronan is so close yet so far, it hurts all the more.

They only had one real night (well, technically day and night) together in the biblical sense, yet Adam is craving Ronan. He wants to taste him again, feel the warmth of his body pressed against him. One night and already Adam is addicted, itching for another fix. It’s so much more overwhelming knowing how close he is, knowing Ronan would be willing. Probably.

He’s almost tempted to creep into the hall, sneak into Ronna’s bedroom, crawl into his bed, and curl into his body. Adam remembers keenly all the physical sensations. The heat and wetness and suction of Ronan’s clever lips and tongue. Ronan’s hot breath panting against his neck as he stroked him.

Adam throws off the blankets, jumps out of the bed, and starts pacing the room. If he let’s his mind continue in its current direction, the throbbing between his legs will shortly get too much to bear. He was never like this before, never so…

_Fucking horny._

It’s embarrassing. It’s like being a teenager again, but this time all that raw animalistic energy has a target.

_I need some water._

Adam decides to make his way to the kitchen, hoping he may even stumble upon something a little stronger than water.

What he doesn’t expect is to see Declan sitting at the kitchen island, in his pajamas, reading manila folders.

Declan looks up as Adam approaches, his feature melting from stern concentration to a friendly smile.

“Trouble sleeping?” Declan asks. Adam smiles sheepishly.

“Something like that.”

“I have just the thing,” and in true Irish hospitality, Declan pulls out a decanter filled with an enticing golden liquid and pours them each a generous portion.

“On the rocks?” Declan asks. Adam isn’t even sure what he’s getting, but he feels the dilution provided by the ice may be necessary, so he nods in answer.

Declan grabs a few cubes from the freezer, plops them in Adam’s glass (it almost pains Adam that it looks like real crystal glassware), and returns to his seat, taking his drink neat.

Adam stares at the amber liqueur curiously before taking a tentative sip. Whatever it is, it is scarily smooth, leaving a pleasant tingling in his throat.

Declan nods his approval and continues reading.

“I never asked, but what do you do for a living?” Adam asks, seeing the piles of folders on the table.

“Family business,” Declan replies casually without looking up.

“Right. Which is?” Adam prompts.

Declan merely smiles.

“Do you know what happened to our father?” he asks in lieu of answering Adam’s question.

Adam feels his gut clench, unsure if the direction Declan is suddenly steering the conversation is a terrible omen.

“I got the abridged version from Ronan,” he admits. He doesn’t reveal that the conversation only occurred hours earlier.

“Did he tell you why?”

“Huh?” Adam asks.

“Why our father was brutally murdered?”

Adam takes a sip of his drink, hoping it will calm the trepidation creeping under his skin. He is starting to realize where Ronan’s strong feelings about his devious brother come from.

“He did not mention that, no,” Adam admits.

Declan sighs.

“Ronan loved dad too much to see his flaws.”

“Flaws?”

“Good people don’t get murdered in their front yard, Adam,” Declan explains.

Adam stares at Declan, refusing to be baited.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Declan chides. “You are too smart to not know exactly what I am implying.”

“I could make assumptions, but I would rather the truth.”

Declan nods approvingly, takes another large swig of what Adam suspects is whiskey or scotch.

“Dad’s money was dirty,” Declan finally says. “He was an international smuggler. He brought contraband in and out of the country.”

“Contraband?” Adam asks nervously.

“Artefacts. Weapons. Yes, even sometimes drugs.”

“Jesus. Did Ronan know?”

“I think he did,” Declan says with a frown. “Dad was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. But I think Ronan chose denial. Chose to see our father as a hero instead of a villain. Sometimes I wish I had that luxury.”

“Why didn’t you?” Adam asks.

“Who do you think kept the books?” Declan says with a raised brow. “I’m the eldest. I was made to inherit. Dad wanted to keep Ronan away from his mess. And Matthew… he doesn’t have the constitution for this kind of business.”

Adam snorts at the understatement.

“Dad may have said the wrong thing to the wrong people. Double crossed someone he shouldn’t have. Sold bad merchandise. Take your pick. Bottom line, it got himself killed. Leaving me the pieces of a broken empire, a zombie mother, and a little brother determined to kill himself. If it wasn’t for Matthew…”

Declan trails off, stares deeply into the last few drops of his drink.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Adam asks. In a way, Declan is merely answering his question, but with more details than Adam should have been allowed.

In response, a cruel smile curves Declan’s lips.

“The only person Ronan has ever brought home for dinner in his entire life was Gansey. And that was after they had been friends for years.” Declan turns, his smile sharp and dangerous. “He’s known you for a few months, and yet here you are.”

Adam clenches his jaw, braces himself for the attack he knows is coming. Give it to the Lynches to be fiercely protective of those they love.

“Save us both the embarrassment by trying to play it off as pity,” Declan warns.

“Ronan isn’t the pitying type,” Adam admits.

“No, he’s not.”

Declan looks Adam up and down, assessing, judging. Adam refuses to play Declan’s games. Not after everything he’s had to suffer already. Not while his relationship with Ronan is only starting to blossom. Declan isn’t the only one that can use words like daggers.

“Why don’t you also save us the embarrassment of giving me a lecture about breaking his heart,” Adam throws back. “I already got that talk from Gansey.”

Declan’s smile only widens.

“Gansey is going to rely on your good nature to not do anything to break my brother’s heart,” Declan explains. “I’m going to take a different tactic.” Declan leans his head on his hand, gazing lazily at Adam, showing his perfect white teeth.

“Is this really necessary?” Adam sighs.

“The first time my brother lost the man he loved most in the world, he started using hard drugs, drag racing, whored himself to scumbags, and then slit his wrists. Yes, this is fucking necessary.” Declan enunciates each word between his grinning teeth.

Adam promptly swallows any retort he was about to toss Declan’s way.

“I worked my ass off to ensure the Lynch name was no longer equivalent to seedy smugglers. I made dear old dad’s business legitimate. I took care of mom. I raised Matthew. And I almost killed Ronan myself trying to prevent his dumb ass from destroying the family. I am not going to let some pretty boy tear it all apart.”

Adam feels something akin to rage bubble in his stomach. His fingers clench and unclench around his glass.

“I won’t let Ronan hurt himself,” Adam seethes. “I think I’ve already made that clear. And that’s before we started fucking.” Declan raises an eyebrow at Adam’s crudeness. “And I think between the two of us, the person who can cause the most damage to him is you,” Adam adds.

“Me?” Declan says skeptically.

“You can’t be serious?” Adam says. “You think Ronan doesn’t care about everything you say and do?”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

“Then you don’t know your brother at all,” Adam growls. “You don’t know how much he just wants you to trust him again.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It kills him you won’t let him be alone with Matthew. It kills him you won’t let him see your mother whenever he wants. It kills him you have to have Gansey, his best friend, be a spy for you just so he can have a bit of freedom.”

“You can’t be that naïve!” Declan snaps. “You think he won’t run right back to Kavinsky the next time something doesn’t goes his way? You think he won’t total a car when someone pisses him off? You think he doesn’t think about shooting up on a daily basis?”

Adam doesn’t know what to think. His knowledge on drug abuse is limited to his school psychology textbook. Yet a part of him wonders how often Ronan thinks about it. How much the cravings may still haunt him…

“I’m hoping he now has things in his life that make suffering through the cravings tolerable,” Adam explains.

“Like you?” Declan sneers.

“Like a family that loves and supports him,” Adam spits back. “Like friends who have his back. Like passion and talent the world has never seen before. And yes, if I can be some solace to him in some way, all the better.”

Declan frowns. It looks strange on his face after all the menacing smiling he has been doing.

“I love Ronan more than you can know. Everything I do is to support him. To help him get better. He shouldn’t be grieving anymore. It’s been years.”

“Maybe he isn’t grieving the loss of your father. Maybe he is grieving the loss of your faith in him.”

Declan straight up glares at Adam.

“You think I’m being too hard on him?”

“I think…” Adam starts slowly, picking his words with care. “I think if Ronan is going to truly get better, part of the process will involve treating him like he is in fact getting better.”

“And what would that look like exactly?” Declan asks with a curious tilt to his head.

“Letting him spend a weekend with Matthew alone. Letting him visit his mother when he wants. Telling Gansey he doesn’t need to report on him anymore.”

“Absolutely not going to happen.”

“Why not?” Adam asks, a flash of anger in his eyes.

“Because Matthew is playdough and worships the ground Ronan walks on, and he really shouldn’t. Because dear old mom barely talks, even on the best of days. Because Ronan won’t ever in a million years pick up a phone and just call me. Even if it is just to say hello.”

“Then compromise,” Adam suggests. “What if Matthew visited for a day with Gansey also there? What if I went with Ronan to visit his mother? What if Ronan agreed to check in with you once per week? You have to be willing to bend a little or your relationship will never be right.”

Declan stares at Adam silently before shaking his head with a sad smile.

“Jeez, Adam. You’ve been in my home for less than 6 hours and already you are telling _me_ what to do. You’ve got some huge balls, I’ll give you that.”

Adam feels his face flush red.

“I get it,” Declan says, his grin turning back to the teasing one from earlier. “You’re just being a good boyfriend.”

_Boyfriend?!?_

Adam’s face is definitely dark crimson now, and he keeps his mouth firmly shut.

“How about I’ll think about it,” Declan offers.

“Huh?”

“Your suggestions. Let me sleep on it.”

Adam swallows, nods.

“Word of advice, though,” Declan says as he picks up a few papers, his attention turning back to his work. “Don’t tell Ronan we had this conversation. I don’t think he’d respond very well to the idea of you defending his honor against me.”

“Ha, no shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm late this week, I know, I know. Actually, I'm pretty impressed with myself that I haven't posted late sooner. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the Declan-Adam heart to heart. I kinda love writing Declan. He's fascinating. Next chapter features Aurora!! Thanks for reading and commenting. It always encourages me to keep this beast of a fic rolling.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Explicit sexual content. Mild rough play (like real mild).  
> Unbeta'd

Aurora Lynch was a woman who once could have stopped traffic with a smile as warm as honey. Her beauty wasn’t the thing of a Victoria’s Secret centrefold. Her beauty was the hug you would crave after a bad day at school. Her gentleness could tame the most feral animals. Her soft voice could lull any fussy child to sleep.

But trauma, heartbreak, and time had left her a husk of her former glory. Her cheeks were drawn now. Her delicate paleness was now something sickly and worrisome. She was too thin and frail to be healthy. Her blonde hair hung limp and dull down her back. Her smile was seldom seen. Her eyes, the colour of cornflowers, were glassy, always staring off into nothingness.

The three Lynch brothers loved her all the same, and all held feelings of guilt for how infrequently they visited. At the same time, all three doubted if she even noticed them half the time.

Niall’s death broke Aurora. Her case was so odd and so sad, two psychiatrists published work about her. The tragedy was that neither were able to cure her. Nor were the army of doctors Declan had hired throughout the years. Declan had since stopped trying to cure her; he stopped having hope their mother would ever come back to them. Honestly, the only Lynch who still hung onto the idea that Aurora was still in that catatonic body was Matthew, but that was because he was the youngest, and her favourite, and the one who craved a mother’s touch the most.

***

Ronan and Adam sit in the waiting room. The nurses insist Aurora have only two visitors at a time, afraid too many people will overwhelm her or confuse her. Ronan thinks that’s utter horseshit. How can someone be overwhelmed or confused by something they don’t even notice? But he plays along because he doesn’t want a fight today. He’s fought over this enough already.

Whenever Ronan visits, it’s a coin flip if his mother would even acknowledge him. Sometimes she responds with a smile or gently saying his name. Those are the good days. Sometimes she’ll even ask him questions:

_“How are you?”_

_”Are you eating well?”_

_“When’s your next tennis match?”_

Half the questions are no longer relevant to Ronan’s life. He isn’t convinced she is even aware he attends Harvard, that he paints now, which is awful since he knows she would be so proud. He was always the son that had the least aspirations, who was labelled the fuck-up and the dark horse, and when he was finally making something of himself he had no parents to be proud of him.

No matter how silly or irrelevant Aurora’s questions are, those days are still the best days. Most days, she doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even turn her head to look at him when he is talking.

Ronan has warned Adam of this. Told him not to be offended if she doesn’t say or do anything. Adam had nodded, squeezed Ronan’s hand, asked for a third time if it was even okay he was coming with the family for something so private. Ronan almost wanted to laugh. Or cry. The truth was Ronan had invited Adam for selfish reasons. He wanted someone who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t pity him, who would just be a witness without any expectations while he spent some time with his mother.

But also…

He wanted Adam to see what he was. Where he came from. He needed Adam to understand he was more than a recovering addict and an angsty artist. Ronan needed Adam to see he had roots in beauty and gentleness, even if those roots were withered.

Declan opens the door, emerges with Matthew in toe, hands in his pockets, looking bored. Matthew is smiling, staring down at his phone.

“Well?” Ronan asks.

“She smiled at Matthew,” Declan says.

“Did she open her gift?” Ronan asks. Declan shakes his head. “Ignored it.”

Ronan sighs.

“Come on, Parrish.”

Ronan gets to his feet, waits for Adam to follow, and together they enter her room.

Aurora sits in a chair pointed to the window, still as a statue. Her cotton pajamas hang loosely on her thin frame, her shoulders enfolded in a small wool blanket. There is a wrapped gift sitting on the bed. Ronan knows the nurses will help her open it later.

The room is so plain and empty. Ronan hates it. But once, when he tried to give his mother a painting, when the nurses hung it on the wall, they had found it the next day destroyed, torn to shreds, the frame splintered.

Ronan had felt as destroyed as the painting when he had found out. But the doctors had told him it wasn’t personal, she hadn’t known what she was doing, she can’t handle change. Which was why he was terrified about how she would handle seeing Adam, a stranger, in her room.

“Mom,” Ronan whispers, crouching down next to her chair. She tilts her head, the only sign of acknowledgement Ronan is going to get.

“How are you?” he asks.

Silence.

“I’ve been doing well. Haven’t gotten kicked out of school yet,” he says with a shrug.

Aurora blinks, her eyes still focused to the scenery beyond her window.

“Gansey moved in with his girlfriend. I think they’ll get married soon. It’s fucking terrible.”

Adam snorts. Ronan is unsure if it’s at his feelings towards his friends getting married or the fact that he just dropped the f-bomb in front of his mother. Ronan smiles and glances at Adam quickly.

“I brought someone I wanted you to meet. Is that okay?” Ronan asks his mom.

Aurora still gives no reaction.

“Adam,” Rona says, waving him over. Adam approaches, quiet and gentle, as if Aurora were a mouse about to scurry away. Ronan suddenly feels a bit guilty, putting Adam in this strange and surreal situation.

Adam steps around the chair, crouches down below Aurora. He smiles at her. It’s a smile Ronan has never seen on Adam’s face before. It’s the type of smile reserved for small children. Or how Ronan smiles at Matthew.

“Hello,” Adam says.

Aurora blinks, her eyes actually shifting from the window down to Adam’s face. Ronan’s breath catches in his throat.

“Hello,” she says, and smiles back.

 _Jesus fucking Christ on a pile of sticks!_ Ronan thinks. It’s a bonafied Christmas miracle.

Adam looks quickly to Ronan, searching for a cue on what to do next.

“Just talk to her,” Ronan suggests with a shrug. He’s as unsure on how to proceed as Adam is.

“My name is Adam,” he says. His voice is soft and full of honeyed Virginia hospitality. Ronan is surprised. He’s never heard Adam’s accent so obvious before, but it makes sense: there’s something wholesome and trustworthy about it. Adam holds out his hand. “I’m Ronan’s friend.”

“Adam,” Aurora repeats, and lifts her arm. But she does not take Adam’s hand. Instead her fingers reach to gently push a stray strand of hair away from Adam’s brow. Her fingers then trail down his temples to his cheek.

Adam stays frozen, clearly worried even the slightest of movement would break the spell.

“Ronan?” she asks, dropping her hand from Adam’s face. Ronan manoeuvres around the chair to be crouching next to Adam, their shoulders pressed together in the limited space.

“Here, ma,” he says, reaching and grabbing Aurora’s hand.

“You brought me a prince,” she tells him with an approving smile. Ronan glances at Adam and is pleased to see Adam’s cheeks flush red.

“I did,” Ronan agrees with a devilish grin.

“Are you boys off to slay dragons?” she asks. There is a twinkle in her eye, as if she is teasing them. As if she is completely lucid for a change.

“Yes,” Ronan replies with utmost gravity. “A terrible, fierce dragon. Named Helen Gansey.”

Adam shoves Ronan’s shoulder and Ronan cackles.

“Adam,” Aurora says, shaking her head at her wayward son.

“Yes, ma’am?” Adam replies, straightening. The way Adam says ma’am does things to Ronan he will need to explore later.

Aurora blinks again, her teasing smile fading from her face.

“I’m not feeling well,” she says to no one in particular.

“Would you like to go lie down?” Ronan asks. Aurora nods, reaching out to her son.

Ronan lifts Aurora, letting her support her weight on him as she takes small steps to the bed. He removes her gift, props the pillows, tucks her legs beneath the blankets, and kisses her on the forehead.

“Rest well, mom,” he says. Her eyes are already closed. She gives no response.

Ronan signals to Adam to leave and they both step out of the room to see Declan and Matthew waiting on the other side of the door staring at their phones. When suddenly, Aurora’s gentle voice trails after them.

“Would you come visit me again?” she asks. Adam and Ronan freeze, turn to stare at each other wide eyed.

“Adam?” Aurora whispers.

Adam turns back into the room and walks up to Aurora’s bed. Her eyes slowly open, and she has a knowing smile on her face.

“It would be my pleasure,” Adam says, and he picks up the delicate hand resting on top of the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Such a charming prince!” Aurora laughs in delight. “Ronan, be careful around this one,” she warns. “Or maybe you can teach my son some manners, Adam,” she suggests.

“Hey!” Ronan shouts with mock indignation.

“That may be a lost cause,” Adam jests. Aurora nods, closes her eyes. And almost immediately, her breathing evens out.

Ronan is smiling gleefully as he waves Adam out of the room and gently shuts the door behind them.

“What. The actual. Fuck,” says Declan, his face pale, his typical smooth composure completely shattered.

“Language!” Matthew hisses, but he also looks just as confused as Declan.

“Clearly mom now likes Adam best,” Ronan teases. “Sorry Matthew, you have been dethroned.”

“No. Let me try that again,” Declan says, rubbing at his eyes. “What. The actual. Fuck, Ronan!?”

Ronan laughs, loving Declan’s bewilderment. Loving that he is swearing like a human would.

Adam looks uncomfortable, his cheeks still pink from when Aurora first referred to him as a prince.

“This isn’t funny!” Declan shouts. A nurse pops her head out of an adjoining room to give them all a mighty glare for their volume. Declan apologizes, the nurses tutting before going back inside the room.

“It’s pretty fucking funny,” Ronan says between giggles, Declan’s rage only making him laugh more.

“How? How?” Declan ask, turning to Adam.

“Apparently I’m charming?” Adam offers, milking his accent, trying to hide his own smile.

“She hasn’t said so many words at a time for over a year. A year, Ronan!” Declan fumes.

“Yeah, I know,” Ronan agrees.

“What kind of voodoo witchcraft is this, then?”

“Parrish is just magic,” Ronan says, swinging an arm proudly around Adam’s shoulders.

“You know what this means, though?” Declan says, staring at Adam intently.

“What?” Ronan asks.

“She’s going to expect him to come back.”

“Fine, so he’ll come back,” Ronan says nonchalantly.

“That’s a lot to ask of your _roommate_ , Ronan,” Declan says pointedly.

Ronan tenses, quickly glancing at Adam. The silence is heavy, and several questions hang unasked in the air between the boys.

“I thought they were dating,” Matthew blurts out, looking most confused of all.

Adam’s eyes go wide, Ronan’s neck turns red, and it is Declan’s turn to start giggling.

“What?” Ronan gasps, looking between his brothers, his arm quickly dropping from Adam’s shoulders as he takes a step to distance himself.

“Oh, don’t even bother, Ro,” Declan says. “You two are so obvious, even Matthew was able to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Matthew asks. “Wait, they’re not dating?”

“Oh, they definitely are,” Declan confirms.

“Says fucking who?” Ronan huffs, the red spreading up his cheeks.

“ _Ronan,_ ” Declan says, giving him an impatient look. Several flashes of emotion pass over Ronan’s face: shame, indignation, anger, confusion, and finally, his features settle on a sneer.

However, the venom he was about to throw at Declan dies on Ronan’s tongue when he realizes Adam has been eerily silent during this whole exchange. When Ronan looks at him, he sees Adam is staring at the floor with pursed lips, looking like he wishes he could disappear.

“Gig’s up, Parrish,” Ronan says mockingly, jostling his shoulder. “I guess we’re dating. Matthew says so, so it must be true.”

Ronan waits, apprehensive that Adam is going to deny it, deny him.

“That’s not how things work,” Adam says with a frown. It’s not quite a denial, but it isn’t an acquiescence either.

“In the Lynch family, that’s exactly how things work,” Declan explains with a smirk. “Now, Matthew, tell Adam that he has to come back to visit mom again.”

“You have to come back to visit mom again,” Matthew obediently repeats with his cherub smile.

“Matthew has spoken, it must be true,” Ronan confirms with a nod.

“That’s not _at all_ how things work,” Adam reiterates with a roll of his eyes.

“He’ll learn eventually,” Ronan assures his brothers. His arm somehow finds its way around Adam’s shoulders again, pulling him close. The best part: Adam lets him. He doesn’t push him away, doesn’t try to distance himself now that his brothers know. Adam let’s himself be pressed against Ronan in an act that is clearly more intimate than something between friends. Ronan is so overwhelmed with relief he could cry.

“Well,” Ronan sighs dramatically, “Since the cat is out of the bag, why don’t you two go grab lunch while Adam and I go back to the apartment.”

“Why? You don’t want to get lunch with us?” Matthew asks.

“I’m hungry for something else,” Roman admits with a smirk.

“Gross,” Declan says under his breath.

“Okay,” Matthew says innocently.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Adam grumbles, hiding his face in Ronan’s neck.

Ronan smiles like a man who owns the world.

***

Ronan wasn’t lying. Ronan never lies.

The moment he unlocks the door he has Adam pressed against the wall, knocking askew one of Declan’s paintings he finds hideously tacky.

He kisses Adam, _finally_. The charade is over. He’s been wanting so badly, having to spend so much time with Adam but without _touch_. He doesn’t know how he had lasted all these months when he can now no longer last even a day.

“So,” Adam says, drawing his head away, licking Ronan’s spittle off his lips. Ronan doesn’t understand what he could possible have to say when they can be desecrating Declan’s stupid apartment.

“We’re dating?” Adam asks.

Oh. That.

Ronan takes a deep breath to calm the nerves and hormones and blood raging to his groin, just for a moment.

“Problem?” Ronan asks. Because what else would they be, really? If not dating, then what?

“No. I just…nevermind,” Adam says, shaking his head.

“Nevermind?” Ronan growls suspiciously.

“No. Sorry. I’m not good at handling labels,” Adam explains sheepishly.

“You can call it whatever the fuck you want,” Ronan says. “As long as I can do more of this,” and Ronan dives in again, engulfing Adam’s lips, pressing him hard against the wall. Adam moans against him. Ronan feels particularly bratty, and shoves his knee between Adam’s thighs. He moves his leg, creating friction right against Adam’s crotch. He can feel Adam tremble under him, feel the stiffening against his leg, and he loves it.

“Ronan,” Adam pants, gently pushing Ronan a few inches away. Ronan groans in frustration.

“You’re killing me, Parrish,” he says. He knows he must be flush with his lust and look like a total wreck, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to get this beautiful boy naked and do unspeakable things to him. And then let Declan find the used condoms in the most unexpected places.

“It’s just, things are going fast,” Adam says firmly.

“Fast?” Ronan asks, visibly deflating. The word is the cruelest buzzkill Adam could have conceived.

“We hooked up a few days ago and now we’re in D.C. and I’m meeting your family and being sworn to come visit again,” Adam elaborates. Ronan stares at Adam blankly for a moment.

“What, did you want me to fucking woo you or something?” he asks. “Should I have bought you dinner first?”

“No! Dammit, this is coming out wrong.”

Adam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, let’s his head fall against the wall.

“This is serious, isn’t it?” he finally asks. “Even though we only just…”

Adam trails off, opens his eyes. Ronan is so close, staring contemplatively at him. Their eyes lock, trying to pry each other open. Ronan wants to see inside Adam, to see everything that makes this boy tick and function. He wants to take Adam apart, write his name on every single piece, and re-assemble him like a puzzle, but with his own essence entwined inside. He wants to know Adam more than he knows himself.

“I don’t do casual,” Ronan whispers, not breaking eye contact. As if he were tethered to Adam, he is drawn in, his body inching closer and closer completely on its own volition.

“I know,” Adam says back.

“Do you?” Ronan asks. His breath is a puff against Adam’s cheek. “You wouldn’t need to ask these questions if you really knew.”

“I know,” Adam says again, a waver in his voice. “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“That we’re together.”

Ronan’s hand slides gracefully around Adam’s waist. Clever fingers sneak under the hem of his shirt. Soft pads press into Adam’s back. His skin is so warm and soft.

“Of course we are,” Ronan pants, so close now his lips are a brush of air against Adam’s temple. Ronan tilts his head, open his mouth, let’s the sharp edge of his teeth caress Adam’s ear.

“Okay,” Adam says, sounding completely wrecked.

“Hm?” Ronan says, letting his tongue dart out and trail against the shell of Adam’s ear.

“Okay, just touch me already!” Adam whines. Ronan smiles against Adam’s cheek, let’s his head drop a few inches and latches on to Adam’s neck.

“Shit,” Adam hisses as Ronan sucks mercilessly. His hands start moving, gripping Adam’s waist hard from under his shirt, the other one holding him still by the ribs.

“I’ve had dreams about your damn clavicles,” Ronan says against Adam’s skin. “Please take your shirt off,” he adds as his eager hands start pulling at the fabric.

“You first,” Adam challenges, shoving him back.

Ronan gives Adam a shit-eating grin before tearing off his shirt. Adam smiles and follows suit, but takes much longer as he is wearing a button down and has to unclasp one at a time.

“Oh, come on,” Ronan says impatiently. Adam just shrugs, mischief in his eyes, his fingers seeming to fumble. “Don’t be a tease,” Ronan begs. Adam laughs, starts quickening the pace.

Ronan, not a creature to be left waiting, tugs the partially open shirt down Adam’s shoulders. It get’s stuck at his elbows, but Ronan doesn’t seem to care. It was Adam’s clavicles he was after, and those are now exposed.

Ronan’s mouth has a mission. Adam is angular, his collar bones creating the perfect divots to lap and curve his lips around. Adam laughs, trying to wiggle out of his shirt while Ronan sucks bruises into his skin.

Adam seems to be enjoying Ronan’s lips, but apparently he has other anatomy that he feels needs attention. And so does Ronan if the hard phallus pressing into Adam’s hip is any indication.

Thus, while Ronan is happily distracted by Adam’s neck, Adam let his agile fingers make quick work of Ronan’s belt and fly.

Adam, smooth as silk, dips his fingers into Ronan’s waistband, seeking his length. It’s so hot and flush, it could scald, but Adam grasps it.

Ronan makes a sound more feral than anything Adam has ever known.

“I’ve been thinking,” Adam says, twisting his wrist as far as it would go for leverage to stroke.

“Ugh, stop,” Ronan begs.

“Stop?” Adam asks, stilling his hand.

“No, not that,” Ronan says against Adam’s skin, “the thinking. The stroking,” Ronan thrusts his hips once meaningfully, “don’t ever stop that.”

“Hear me out,” Adam says, but graciously continues working Ronan’s length. “I’ve been wanting to try something.”

“Oh?” Ronan says, sweat starting to gleam on his brow.

“Yes. You see, I’ve become a bit obsessed with your mouth,” Adam whispers.

“I’m a bit obsessed with you hands,” Ronan confesses, his hips making tiny little thrusts. It was taking all of Ronan’s mental faculties to restrain himself from ravaging Adam.

“The thing is,” Adam removes his hand from Ronan’s length and instead hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Ronan’s jeans. He pulls down hard, tugging Ronan’s boxers with his pants. His erection springs free, curving up to his belly. “I want you to be obsessed with my mouth too.”

Adam falls to his knees, and it’s the most glorious sight. He uses his hands to guide Ronan’s hips; Ronan barely has the mental faculties to not trip over the pants that are restricting his ankles. But they make it work, Adam manoeuvring Ronan so he has his back to the wall, and Adam can now savour the full frontal view.

“It’s ridiculous,” Adam huffs, quickly glancing up at Ronan through his eyelashes.

“What is?” Ronan asks.

“Your body.”

Adams hand caresses down Ronan’s six pack, around his eager groin, fingers tickling the inside of his thighs.

Ronan smiles. “Do whatever you want to it.”

“Careful, Ronan,” Adam warns, his lip curling in the most dangerous grin Ronan has ever seen. “I just might.”

Adam cups Ronan’s balls and squeezes gently. Ronan’s head slams against the wall and he delivers an original slew of curses. Ronan is panting, fingers clawing the air by his hips.

“Is that a good response or a bad response?” Adam asks.

“ _Adam_.”

Adam’s hand lets go and moves up to grab Ronan’s cock instead. He brings the tip to his mouth and wraps his lips around it.

Ronan’s eyes flutter shut and he has to fist his hands to stop them from grabbing Adam’s head. The suction is heavenly and Ronan wills his body to be still so Adam can work.

Adam grips Ronan tight, taking more of him into his mouth. He is careful to keep his teeth away, using his tongue to lap the underside of Ronan’s dick.

 _He’s so fucking good at this_ , Ronan thinks. It takes a few moments for his brain to put the pieces together.

_Holy shit, he’s probably never done this before!_

Ronan’s eyes fly open and he looks down at Adam. It’s magnificent, that crown of messy hair, those hollowed, high cheek bones, Adam’s right hand holding him, working him, his left hand gripping Ronan’s hip, the thumb kneading the skin.

On paper, Ronan has known Adam is a genius. He’s heard Gansey brag about this man’s intellectual prowess enough to hate him for it. Adam is a self-made man who took himself out of his abusive father’s white trash home using nothing but smarts and stubborn pride.

Ronan almost wants to laugh.

Smarts and stubborn pride: the secret formula to being a natural at giving head.

And even though it is new for Adam, he’s still studying. He changes his pace, looks up at Ronan, gauges the reaction. He uses less tongue one moment, more suction the next. Less mouth, more hand. He lets his left hand squeeze Ronan’s balls again, and that definitely causes Ronan to lose concentration for a second, causing him to thrust into Adam’s mouth.

Adam gags, grips Ronan’s hip tight and pins it back against the wall.

“So-sorry,” Ronan pants. Adam doesn’t stop. Not until the experiment is over. Not until his hand drifts between Ronan’s legs, a curious finger caressing his perineum, until it finds…

Ronan grabs Adam’s wrist, stopping him. Adam pulls off his cock, looks up at Ronan inquiringly.

“If you do that, I’m going to come,” Ronan explains. Adam quirks a brow.

“That’s kinda the point.”

“No, I want this to last longer,” Ronan says, pulling Adam up to his feet.

“But I’m not finished,” Adam argues, seeming almost disappointed he didn’t get Ronan to climax.

“I want you to come with me.”

Ronan emphasizes the point by cupping Adam’s neglected erection still trapped in his pants. Ronan leans down, bringing his pants back up to his hips. Adam looks heartbroken.

“What, were you enjoying the taste of my cock that much?” Ronan teases.

“Maybe I was,” Adam says, leaning in to kiss Ronan. Ronan can taste himself on Adam’s lips. The kiss is filthy, tongue and teeth nipping at each other’s mouths. When they pull apart, they both look like they have forgotten what they were talking about.

“Remember how I said I was obsessed with your hands?” Ronan asks. He reaches down, grasps Adam’s right hand, brings those long fingers to his mouth. “I’ve also been _thinking._ ”

Adam smiles at his words being thrown back at him.

“Tell me.”

“You already know,” Ronan says cryptically before taking Adam’s pointer finger into his mouth and sucking suggestively.

“Tell me,” Adam repeats, pressing his hips into Ronan, craving his own release.

“I want your pretty fingers inside me, tearing me open,” Ronan says. He takes two fingers into his mouth this time.

“So why did you stop me?” Adam asks. Ronan’s lips come off Adam’s fingers with an indecent pop.

“Because you still have clothes on and we’re standing in the goddamn foyer and I haven’t got to see or touch your perfect fucking dick for days. Come on.”

Ronan leads Adam by the hand to his bedroom, his heart about to beat right out of his chest, eager to live out one of the many wet dreams he’s been having of Adam.

“Take off you clothes,’ Ronan says as he shuts the door and grabs his bag of toiletries. It doesn’t take him long to find the tube of lube and some condoms he had packed.

“You came prepared?” Adam asks. “Bit presumptuous.”

“Is it? All right, I guess you can fuck yourself then,” and gets up as if the leave the room.

“Don’t you dare,” Adam says with a giggle. He grabs Ronan’s arm, spins him around and kisses him.

“I thought I told you to take off your clothes,” Ronan draws away to say, flicking Adam’s still clad thigh.

Adam steps back and makes a bit of a show of taking off his socks. He stares at Ronan challengingly as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He steps out of his pants, one leg at a time, and lets his fingers play in the elastic of his briefs before removing them as well. Ronan watches the scene completely transfixed, his mouth going dry. Adam even has the audacity to step right up to Ronan, butt naked, and whisper, “Now what do you want me to do?”

Ronan swallows, bringing saliva back into his mouth so he can talk without sounding like a frog. He is trying really hard not to stare at Adam’s own lovely erection. Ronan silently hands Adam the lube and condoms, kicks of the rest of his clothes in less than a second, and backs Adam up to his bed.

“You are going to get your fingers nice and slick and start working me open,” Ronan orders, his voice thick with want. “And when I’m ready, you are going to fuck me with everything you’ve got.”

Adam’s eyes go wide. “Ronan…” he breathes out in awe.

“Everything.”

Ronan shoves Adam onto the bed.

“You’ve.”

Ronan straddles Adam, grinning like the devil incarnate.

“Got.”

Ronan leans down to nip Adam’s bottom lip painfully.

Ronan sees the colour of Adam’s cheeks darken, his eyes looking more glazed by the minute.

“Get to work, Parrish,” he commands, undulating his hips meaningfully, before swinging his leg off of Adam. Ronan is on his hands and knees on the bed, the full expanse of his beautiful tattoo visible for Adam’s hungry eyes. There are still light, fading bruises on his back from Adam’s hard work a few days ago. Ronan looks over his shoulder at Adam, wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

It takes Adam a moment to realize he is still holding some important tools. Adam quickly shuffles off the bed to stand behind Ronan, his eyes drinking in the bold, sharp muscles of his back, and the prominent curve of his ass.

This is new to Adam. Ronan knows that, knows he’ll probably need guidance. But if Ronan knows anything about Adam, is that he thrives under pressure.

Adam drops the condoms next to Ronan’s calf, opens the bottle of lube, pours a generous amount onto his fingers. Ronan watches him over his shoulder, his body almost quivering with anticipation.

Adam approaches and Ronan spreads his legs more apart.

“Start with one, it’s been a while,” Ronan says. Adam nods, his face looking determined. Adam’s finger is cool when he places it on Ronan’s skin. He circles the hole, spreading the lubricant, probing it gently. Ronan trembles beneath his touch. Adam then gently pushes in to the first knuckle and Ronan sucks in a breath. He is tight and he tries to urge his body to relax, to loosen. Adam slowly moves deeper, going to the second knuckle and bends his finger to caress Ronan’s wall.

Ronan works hard to control his breathing, keeping himself still. The stretch is pleasant but this is only the beginning.

Adam pushes his finger all the way in, reaching deep and down. His fingertip strokes Ronan’s prostate for an instant and he let’s out a loud cuss. Adam moves his finger in a gentle circle, gently coaxing Ronan’s walls loose.

“More,” Ronan says, craving the burn he is used to. Adam withdraws his finger, the loss of pressure a strange pleasure on its own. Ronan feels now two fingers prodding at his hole. They slowly enter, putting more pressure on the muscles. Ronan’s eyes slam shut. There’s a burn this time, and it quickens his heart rate. Adam moves his fingers in slowly, gently spreading them a millimeter at a time. The motion is still circular, tickling the inside of Ronan’s walls. Ronan instinctually wants to push back, skewer himself on Adam’s hand, but doesn’t. He wants to do this properly. He’s not afraid of the pain. But he knows Adam would stop if he knew he was causing the pain. Ronan would rather die than have Adam stop.

The process is slow, Adam working him, stretching him. The gentleness is what kills Ronan. Adam doesn’t push too far, doesn’t spread more than Ronan is willing to go. Ronan doesn’t remember ever having this done to him _gently_. It’s novel, but it’s sweet. Adam is concentrating so hard on this ridiculous task, and Ronan loves him more for it. It takes minutes of caressing before Adam can scissor Ronan and inch apart. The burning is so tame, and Ronan wants to be on fire.

“Okay,” he huffs, his cock leaking pre-cum, desperate to be touched. “More.”

Adam withdraws. Takes his time adding more lube to his fingers and spreading it around Ronan’s hole. The press of three isn’t as bad as it was going from one to two. But when all three enter together, Ronan feels so much more full.

“God,” Ronan gasps, his fists clenching. Adam has three fingers rubbing his prostate and it’s an electric shock that makes Ronan shake.

Adam laughs.

“What?” Ronan asks, trying to look over his shoulder, trying to see Adam’s arm working.

“I’ve just realized this is technically my first prostate exam.”

Ronan can’t help it: he starts laughing too even though Adam has three fingers deep in his ass. The tremors of his body loosen him even more.

“You can tutor all your loser med school friends,” Ronan says.

“Are you offering your services to the class?” Adam shoots back with a grin.

“Only if everyone in your class is as pretty as you,” Ronan replies with a wink. Adam slaps Ronan’s ass cheek with his free hand in retaliation.

“Hey!” Ronan yelps, but the sting is actually wonderful.

“I’m not good at sharing,” Adam says with a glare, and spreads his fingers. Ronan shudders. There is no pain to the stretch, only that insane sensation of being laid bare.

“I think I’m ready,” Ronan pants, his mouth watering at what’s to come next.

“I think so too,” Adam says, removing his hand. He wipes it on the sheets before grabbing the waiting condoms. Ronan turns, stretches his back like a cat, and watches as Adam unrolls one on himself. He is again generous with applying the lube onto his length. Adam is beautifully hard, his abdomen so tight, his own thighs trembling.

Ronan repositions himself, his ass in the air, waiting. It feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime.

Adam is breathing heavily enough that Ronan can hear it above the pounding of his own pulse. Adam takes care as he approaches, aligns himself, and presses forward. Ronan is so well prepared, his entrance offers almost no resistance, and Adam’s tip slides in with the slightest pressure.

“Is this okay?” Adam asks, his own body alight with anticipation. Adam is trying so hard to maintain control, it’s almost cute. But it’s not at all what Ronan wants.

“Fine, Parrish. Keep going,” he pleads. Adam presses forward, sliding in inch by excruciating inch. Ronan feels so many things at once, but most importantly, he feels so _full_.

Adam sinks in all the way, his hips pressed against Ronan’s ass. They’re both panting, savouring the feeling.

“Move,” Ronan orders. Adam obeys, pulling back his hips a few inches before slowly pushing back in.

“No” Ronan gasps, teeth clenched. “I told you already. Give me everything you got.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Adam says, his voice barely a whisper.

“You won’t,” Ronan reassures. He looks over his shoulder, let’s their eyes make contact. “You won’t hurt me. You can’t.”

Adam hesitates, seeming to not believe Ronan’s words. But then he reaches out, uses his hands to glide down Ronan’s back, fingers tracing his tattoo, causing Ronan’s hair to stand on ends. Adam’s deft hands find their way to his hips and wrap around him, holding him tight and steady.

“You swear you’ll tell me to stop? If it’s too much?” Adam asks, his fingers digging into Ronan’s skin sharply. The sensation is exquisite.

“Yes,” Ronan breathes. “Now fuck me. Fuck me like your goddamn life depends on it.”

Adam inhales sharply, leans down and plants a gentle kiss on Ronan’s shoulder.

“As you wish.”

Adam truly loves a challenge. He gives Ronan exactly what he asked for. Exactly what he needs. His pace is perfect, fast, but each thrust meaningful. He’s not trying to get to the end, to climax. He’s trying to get Ronan to moan again. To cuss. To gasp. That has to be Adam’s motivation, because every time Ronan makes a sound, Adam’s fingers grip into Ronan tighter. He knows he’s going to have bruises on his hips, and he can’t wait. Ronan loves the idea of Adam’s steely, elegant fingers marking him. He loves it so much, he hears himself say, “Touch me.”

Adam’s right hand moves around Ronan’s thighs, seeking his length. His hand grasps him and starts tugging ruthlessly.

“Fucking shit,” Ronan gasps. He can feel the sweat pooling on his lower back. He can feel the drops trickling down his temple. He’s so close. So damn close.

“Harder,” he begs. “Fuck me harder.”

Adam does, slamming into him with enough force the bed rattles with each thrust. The burning is perfect. He’s so full and Adam is hitting the sweet spot with almost every thrust. Ronan is now fighting to keep it going, balancing precariously on the edge.

“Ronan,” Adam says, sucking air into his lungs, sounding desperate.

“I’m close,” Ronan reassures. Adam’s hand is working him wonderfully. But there’s something missing. One more thing he needs.

Almost like Adam can read his mind, he leans down, his mouth pressing a kiss to the back of Ronan’s neck. And suddenly, Adam’s teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder.

The sudden pain lances down his back, causing Ronan’s eyes to shoot open, causing his spine to arch back, and tipping him over the edge.

His seed pulses onto the bed beneath him, Adam’s hand coaxing him through it.

“Yes,” Adam hisses into the skin of Ronan’s neck, and he’s coming undone, his body shaking as he can finally let go too.

Ronan holds himself up a little longer to let Adam ride out his orgasm. It’s only when Adam’s weight is leaning fully on top of him that he allows them both to collapse onto the bed.

Ronan’s muscles ache pleasantly, and he knows his ass is going to be sore tomorrow. But he doesn’t care. He’s can’t remember ever orgasming like that before. He can’t remember ever feeling so _full_.

“That was…” Adam pants, collecting his thoughts. “Intense,” he finishes lamely. He rolls off Ronan, pulling out as gently as he can. Ronan is too happy and dazed to reply with words at the moment. He simply watches Adam pull the condom off and tie it before tossing it into the small waste basket next to the bed.

Adam then turns to look at Ronan, and there is a lot happening behind those deep blue eyes.

“Was it too much?” Ronan asks, suddenly worried. Because Adam is right: it was intense. It was more than he had been planning to do their second time. And it was a lot of firsts for Adam.

Adam shakes his head, lies down next to Ronan, facing him.

“I just don’t usually…I’m not normally…” the words die on Adam’s tongue. He frowns, with a scowl on his face.

“Rough?” Ronan supplies with a grin.

“Maybe,” Adam says slowly.

“You did nothing I didn’t want you to do,” Ronan says, reaching to cup Adam’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ve come that hard since I discovered pornography as a teenager,” Ronan says with a laugh. Adam doesn’t seem to be put at ease by the joke.

“Adam?” Ronan says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

“I think,” Adam mumbles slowly, “That I’m scared how easy it was.”

“What?”

“Doing that to you.”

“Fucking my brains out?” Ronan supplies happily.

“Yes. Losing control like that.”

“Why does that scare you?” Ronan asks.

“I hate having the capacity for violence,” Adam admits, looking pleadingly at Ronan.

“Every human has the capacity for violence,” Ronan counters.

“But it shouldn’t be easy. Especially not towards the people you love.”

Ronan grins evilly.

“Are you saying you love me, Parrish? And I thought I was the one going too fast.”

Adam glares at Ronan and flicks him in the shoulder, making Ronan laugh.

“I’m being serious,” Adam hisses.

“I know. And I adore you for that. For caring that much,” Ronan admits, needing to kiss Adam again. And again. He leaves small pecks all over Adam’s face.

Ronan isn’t an idiot. He knows what this is really about. Adam fears his father’s propensity for violence lives inside him, and he fears he could hurt Ronan if he lets go of too much control.

Pain Ronan can handle. Pain has been the foundation of Ronan’s life. Ronan sometimes even craves the pain. It’s how he knows he’s still alive.

What Ronan can’t handle is the look of self-loathing on Adam’s face.

“Adam,” Ronan says again, and this time he puts in all the feelings he possesses into the word. He says it as soft as falling snow. Adam notices. He looks at Ronan questioningly.

“I told you, you can’t hurt me. Not from that.”

Ronan reaches between their bodies, grabs Adam’s hands, brings them to his lips.

“Your hands, your fucking amazing hands…” Ronan kisses them over and over again. “These hands are made for healing. These hands are going to save so many lives.”

Adam smiles. “You’re a bit obsessed with my hands.”

“Yes. And you’re a bit obsessed with my mouth,” Ronan counters, brushing his lips against Adam’s fingertips. Adam doesn’t deny it, watching Ronan’s lips worship his hands with a strange fascination.

“What a pair we make,” he says. Adam nods and shimmies himself closer to Ronan. Ronan rolls onto his back, pulling Adam into his chest. Adam pillows his head on Ronan’s pectoral and sighs contentedly.

“Thank you,” Adam whispers.

“For the amazing sex?” Ronan asks cheekily.

“For making my brain go quiet.”

“That’s a strange thing to thank someone for,” Ronan remarks.

“I don’t think so.”

Adam almost immediately dozes off curled into Ronan. Ronan lets him. They have to deal with the Ganseys in a few hours. And Declan’s snide comments when he finds their shirts still lying on the floor in the foyer. In the meantime, Ronan allows himself to bathe in the warmth of Adam’s body. In the trust he had shown Ronan in his willingness to let go. Even though Ronan coaxed Adam to treat him a little rough, Adam had still been under perfect control. Had taken such care to ensure Ronan’s body had been ready. Ronan can’t fathom there being any violence in what they had just shared, in Adam Parrish. Just trust. And love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I struggled with. Again, I don't do smut without purpose. Safe to say, Ronan has not experienced a "healthy" relationship prior to Adam and may have some unusual associations with sex.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Helen Gansey comes out to play.  
> Unbeta'd.

Adam steps out of the bathroom. He is alone in his own room, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He is full of emotions and they are novel. Adam’s default setting is analytical: he should self-evaluate, sort, define, understand. But there is no time. He has to get dressed and accompany Ronan to the Gansey Christmas dinner.

He can still taste Ronan on his tongue as he buttons up his shirt.

He can still hear Ronan’s moans and pleas echoing in his head as he threads his belt through the loops.

_“Fuck me like your goddamn life depends on it.”_

Adam feels his face flush. His hands quiver and fumble with his buckle.

Adam still can’t decide if he had done it. Really just lost control. A part of himself prays he hadn’t, hopes that he had taken care of Ronan properly. Prepared him properly. How could he be sure, though, when it was his first time with a man?

_“You won’t hurt me. You can’t.”_

If only Ronan knew. Adam knows too well that not all violence is physical. The knowledge has allowed Adam to become very proficient at hurting people. His preferred method of attack damages the soul, not the body. His mind has always been cruel, calculating, and knows exactly how to break a person apart without lifting a finger. He’s done it before. It is likely he will do it again.

If only Ronan knew.

Adam ties the laces of his dress shoes, remembering the way Ronan had said his name. Like a prayer.

He steps out of his room and makes his way down the hall. He finds Matthew watching television in the living room. The other Lynches had returned from their errands an hour ago, and Adam had fortunately been able to sneak out of Ronan’s room, collect their discarded clothing, and make some sandwiches for lunch before their return.

“Hey Adam,” Matthew says cheerily. “You look fancy.” Adam laughs.

“Thanks. I’d imagine the Gansey butler wouldn’t let me through the gate if I showed up in jeans.”

Matthew nods with utmost seriousness. “I’ve been to the Ganseys for Christmas once. Whatever you do, don’t eat the green sauce.”

“Huh?”

“Trust me.”

Adam smiles and nods. He turns, planning to head to Ronan’s room. He knows Ronan can sometimes take ages in the bathroom. He can’t fathom why: he has no hair to style, he doesn’t wear makeup. But Adam doesn’t want to be late. Not to the Ganseys. Not when Helen would be there and take it as a personal offence.

But the moment he turns around, he sees Declan standing behind him, a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh,” Adam says, trying to step past. Declan doesn’t let him. He points to Adam and simply says, “No.”

“Excuse me?” Adam replies, almost defensively.

Declan’s finger swipes up and down Adam’s body. “No. Just no.”

Adam looks down at himself, confused.

“Come with me,” Declan commands.

Adam, perplexed, follows Declan down the hall, past his own bedroom. He realizes Declan is taking him to the master bedroom and he feels his throat go dry.

Declan ushers him into his own room. If he had thought the guest bedroom was lavish, he needs to start carrying a thesaurus to find the appropriate words to describe Declan’s room. It is so neat and crisply clean, it looks like no one has ever lived in it. The bed is a four-poster, king-sized, with black accents and eggshell coloured sheets. All the furniture seems to be leather or made of black varnished wood, while the floors are shinier than Adam’s shoes.

Declan points Adam to the desk chair to sit and makes his way to a door. When he throws it open, Adam sees the walk-in closet behind it, larger than his apartment bedroom. The clothing is sorted so meticulously by style and colour, Adam wanders if Declan was a librarian in a past life. Or maybe just has OCD.

“There is nothing I can’t stand more than a suit that doesn’t fit properly,” Declan explains as he starts perusing through his own clothing.

Adam looks down at his suit. He had bought it years ago at Gansey’s recommendation. He had to save up for almost six months to afford it. He had worn it to his graduation and to his medical school interviews, but aside from that, a man like Adam Parrish does not find many excuses to dress up.

“There is no time for tailoring, but we are about the same height,” Declan mutters more to himself than Adam. He starts grabbing some dress shirts, ironed perfectly as if they had just come out of the dry cleaners. He also grabs a few jackets and belts. “Your tie doesn’t match either,” Declan criticizes, not even looking at Adam.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Adam says as politely as he can manage. Declan snorts derisively and keeps pulling out articles of clothing. When he can barely carry anymore he turns to Adam.

“Those people are sharks,” Declan says, a glint to his eyes. “I would know, I’m one of them. They will judge you every chance they get. Ronan doesn’t care, but you should. Never waste an opportunity to network.”

Declan starts spreading the clothing on his bed, mixing and matching the shirts, the jackets, the pants, ties, and belts.

“Try this one on first. I’m a bit broader in the shoulders, but it will fit better than what you are wearing now. Plus these lapels are in style at the moment.”

Adam walks up to the bed, removing his jacket. He looks down at the options and purses his lips together. He hates to admit it, but Declan clearly has an eye for fashion, at least better than his own.

“Shirt too,” Declan says pointedly. “We aren’t doing this half-assed.”

Adam starts unbuttoning his collar and suddenly Declan clears his throat and turns his eyes away. Adam turns to the mirror on the wall and feels his ears go red: there is a very obvious hickey on his neck.

_Shit._

Like a soldier, Adam pretends it’s not there and carries on until he is undressed, wearing nothing but his undershirt, boxers, and socks. Declan holds up the first suit and shirt to Adam’s body and shakes his head, tossing them back onto the bed.

The second shirt he presses to Adam’s chest, frowns, and then picks the jacket and pants from the third ensemble. He nods.

“Put these on,” he orders.

Adam starts dressing. Declan was right, his clothes, although not perfectly tailored to his body, fit better than what he was previously wearing. The sleeves fall perfectly to his wrists, and the jacket narrows flatteringly at his waist.

Once Adam has done up the last button, Declan holds up his arm with five different ties dangling from it. He looks at Adam with a tilt to his head.

“This one,” he says, handing Adam something silky and blue.

Adam starts making a knot and the moment he is done, Declan is handing him a belt.

“Put your shoes back on and go look in the mirror in the closet,” Declan says curtly.

Adam does so and makes his way to the walk-in. There is a full body sized mirror in there and as he turns to it he sucks in a lungful of air.

Adam’s first thought is naturally, _“This outfit costs more than my entire life savings.”_

Adam’s second thought is, _“I can’t even recognize myself.”_

The suit is a silky pale grey, cut so perfectly Adam could almost trick himself into believing he works out daily (which he doesn’t). The shirt underneath is a dark blue that matches his eyes. The tie’s paler blue contrasts perfectly with both jacket and shirt. Everything about the outfit is sleek and shiny and luxurious. Everything Adam isn’t. But wearing these clothes, he could believe he is.

“You clean up nice, Parrish,” Declan declares with a smirk.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Adam asks, unable to tear his eyes away from his reflection.

“Of course. Just don’t spill any wine on it.”

Adam nods, turns to Declan. “Thanks.”

“Just do me a favour and burn that thing,” Declan points to the remnants of Adam’s original suit sitting on the bed. Adam shakes his head with a smile.

“Declan!”

Adam and Declan turn to the bedroom door in sync, Ronan’s voice reverberating inside the apartment.

“Declan, you better not be torturing him!” Ronan growls as he gets closer. He barrels into Declan’s room, a scowl crumpling his features.

The scowl instantly melts when his eyes fall on Adam.

Ronan stands frozen, staring at Adam wide-eyed. And if Adam is being honest with himself, he is staring just as wide-eyed back.

Because all six-foot-three-inches of Ronan Lynch is clad in black. But not the usual black jeans and wife-beater and leather jacket. Ronan Lynch is wearing a suit that fits him like a glove. It makes the porcelain quality of his skin glow. It makes the sharp blue of his eyes light up his face. It emphasizes the broadness of his strong shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and hugs the curve of his hips and ass perfectly. The man is even wearing a tie and pocket square, all black, but different textures to help them stand out.

Declan looks between the two boys, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“If this Cinderella moment wasn’t so gag worthy, it’d be cute,” Declan says, breaking the silence. Ronan gives Declan the finger without tearing his gaze off Adam. He couldn’t look away from Adam even if he tried.

“I’ll give you two a moment then,” Declan pronounces, laughter in his voice, as he steps out of the room.

“Wow,” Ronan utters eloquently. That’s about all he is capable of at the moment.

“It’s Declan’s suit. He insisted,” Adam explains sheepishly.

“He’s an asshole, but he has good taste,” Ronan begrudgingly admits.

“You look…” Adam begins, his cheeks burning. “You look really sexy.”

Ronan bursts into laughter. He walks up to Adam, crowds him in the closet, wraps his arms around his waist.

“I can’t decide if I want to tear the clothes off of you or fuck you in them,” Ronan admits coyly.

“Ronan,” Adam hisses, feeling heat starting to pool in his belly.

“I know, I know. Maybe later,” Ronan says, placing a light kiss on Adam’s lips. “God, you even smell good,” Ronan mumbles, closing his eyes and breathing Adam in.

“We need to go,” Adam whispers, finding it impossible to step out of Ronan’s embrace.

“Do we really?” Ronan asks forlornly.

“You promised Gansey,” Adam reminds him.

“Yes, but that was before I knew the alternative could be undressing you in my brother’s closet.”

“We can still do that later,” Adam points out.

“Wait, are you saying you’re actually game to fuck in Declan’s closet?” Ronan asks hopefully. Adam rolls his eyes and pushes him aside.

“Let’s go, Lynch.”

***

The BMW pulls up to the Gansey estate. On its own, the BMW is an impressive car. But the other cars lining the circular driveway make the BMW look like chump change. Lamborghinis and Ferraris and Cadillac’s and even a goddamn Rolls-Royce line the drive.

The auto enthusiast in Adam wants to pass his hands over them, pop open hoods, start tinkering around. But he knows Declan would probably kill him if he managed to get engine grease on his suit, so instead he admires from afar as Ronan leads them to the front door.

Ronan hesitates at the threshold, his lips tight.

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Adam says.

“I hate this rich-people crap,” Ronan drawls. “Dumb conversation laced with pretentiousness is not my forte.”

“At least the food should be good,” Adam points out.

“Rarely. Don’t eat the green sauce,” Ronan warns. Adam blinks.

“What is with this green sauce?”

Before Ronan can answer, the door flies open. Standing before the boys in a blood red dress that is both scandalously sexy in the way it hugs her curves and yet strangely conservative as it shows no leg, shoulder, or cleavage, is none other than Helen Gansey. Although shorter than both Ronan and Adam, her presence and confidence alone make it feel like she is looking down at the world. It doesn’t help that she is also very attractive, holding herself with a similar grace possessed by her brother.

“Well, well, well, Ronan Lynch. It’s been a while,” she says to him. She smiles wolfishly at Ronan, all perfect white teeth and intelligent brown eyes.

“Hi Helen,” he grumbles unenthusiastically.

“And is that Adam!?!” her voice suddenly changes, from teasing to genuinely pleased.

She steps around Ronan as if forgotten and grasps Adam’s shoulders.

“You are a sight for sore eyes!” She says pleasantly and place a kiss on each of Adam’s cheeks.

“Hello Helen. It’s good to see you again.”

“You look divine,” she coos, grasping Adam’s lapel and rubbing her fingers against the soft fabric. “This look truly suits you.”

“Uh, thanks. It’s just a loaner, though.”

“Well try to keep it. You look good enough to eat,” she purrs.

At this point, Ronan is straight up glaring.

“Richard!” Helen yells from over her shoulder, completely oblivious to the daggers Ronan is throwing her way. “Your friends have arrived!”

In seconds, Richard Campbell Gansey the Third appears behind Helen’s shoulder, looking born into the role of elegant host in his own tailored suit. Adam tries not to gawk at the fact that Gansey is wearing a deep maroon velvet three-piece and managing to pull it off without purposely trying to be ironic.

With the Gansey siblings standing next to each other, it is clear they come from the same elegant stock. They have identical charming smiles, warm but bright eyes, and a slight curl to their brown hair. The major difference is Helen always looks like she is playing a game of chess, while Gansey always looks like he just wants someone to catch frogs with him.

“You made it!” he says happily. He embraces Ronan tight, and Ronan even lifts his arm to return the hug.

“Adam Parrish!” he adds, just as pleased, and Adam also finds himself in a Gansey hug, full of genuine warmth. Gansey takes a step back and looks at Adam with his huge smile. Adam can see the million questions behind Gansey’s eyes, especially when they causally dart between him and Ronan. Gansey can be oblivious, but he can also have moments of creepy astuteness. Adam tries to maintain his best poker face. He expects Gansey will attempt to corner him alone for a chat at some point, but for now he will play it cool for Ronan’s sake.

“Come in! Come in! It’s freezing out here.”

Gansey ushers them inside. A butler takes their winter coats and Helen slyly places glasses of white wine into each of their hands.

“Adam, you’ve never been to the D.C. property before, right?” Gansey asks.

“No,” he admits, his eyes taking in the main hall. There are crystal chandeliers and Victorian style furnishings and men and woman in black passing around hors d’oeuvres. The guests are all in fine formal attire, chatting and walking around. The smell of food and cloying perfume, in addition to tinkling laughter, assault Adam’s senses.

“Would you like a tour?” Helen offers. “I would be happy to show Adam around. You know, Lynch got lost the first time he was here.”

Ronan stiffens.

“I didn’t get lost,” he says defensively.

“We found him crying in father’s study,” Helen explains.

“I was eight years old!” Ronan snaps.

“It was adorable,” Helen says, patting Ronan’s arm. “I remember mother wiping the snot off your face while Dick explained how a compass works. You see, he had needed the bathroom and we had told him to use the one in the east wing. But Ronan, at the time, still hadn’t learned his cardinal directions.”

“I was eights years old,” Ronan growls again.

“It was a classic Ronan moment,” Helen finishes. Adam is trying very hard not to laugh at Ronan’s expense. “Well, the offer still stands, Adam,” she says with a wink. “I’ll be back shortly. Mother has asked me to greet the French dignitaries and they seem to have just arrived.”

“Please, take your time,” Ronan grumbles as Helen leaves. Adam nudges him with his shoulder.

“Mother also loves that story,” Gansey says with a nod. “But mom has always had a soft spot for Ronan.”

“Is that so?” Adam asks with a grin. Ronan ‘s cheeks are a bit pink at this point.

“Oh yes, she was the only one that could get him to sing.”

“Sing?” Adam sputters in awe.

“Dick,” Ronan hisses warningly.

“Gansey!” comes a familiar voice, breaking the tension. Suddenly Blue is at Gansey’s side, linking their arms together.

“Oh wow, the Snake actually came,” she says in mock surprise.

“Good to see you too, Maggot. You look like one of Santa’s elves vomited tinsel on a lampshade.”

Adam thinks Blue looks quite beautiful in her sparkling indigo dress, the skirt showing a daring amount of leg.

“You look like a vampire from a horny teenager’s tumblr page,” she bites back.

Adam snorts, Blue’s insult being both apt and amusing.

“ _I_ look like a vampire? I’m not the one wearing _velvet_!” Ronan retorts sharply.

“Please leave me out of this,” Gansey begs.

Adam can’t take it anymore and starts chuckling.

“Oh my god, Adam?” Blue gasps as she finally notices him.

“Hiya.”

“Holy shit, I didn’t even recognize you. You look so different!” Blue steps away from Gansey to give Adam a hug. “I had no clue you were coming.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Adam explains.

“Who would have thought Parrish could work a suit as well as he works coveralls,” Blue says approvingly.

“Coveralls?” Ronan asks.

“For when I work in the garage,” Adam explains. A curious look appears on Ronan’s face. Adam realizes that Ronan has probably never seen him in coveralls. Or maybe Ronan didn’t even know Adam still did mechanic work on the side to pay the bills.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Blue says to Adam. “I hate being the only normal person at these things.”

“Normal?” Ronan asks questioningly. “Maggot, you are many things, but normal is not one of them.”

“I think she means ‘not stupidly rich’,” Adam clarifies.

“Yes, that,” Blue nods.

“Come on, they’re not so bad,” Gansey says.

“I would estimate fifty percent of the people in this room are currently talking about taxes,” Blue deadpans.

“Don’t be silly,” Ronan says. “Only thirty percent are talking about taxes. Twenty three percent are talking about gun control and their rights to the first amendment, and twelve percent are talking about the ‘dirty immigrants’ stealing all our jobs.”

“I can’t take you two anywhere,” Gansey grumbles, rubbing his temples.

“They’re probably not wrong,” Adam points out.

“I’d have you know,” Gansey counters, “that I just had a very pleasant conversation about the influence of Arthurian mythology and the concept of the hero’s quest in modern superhero cinema.”

“Oh god, that’s even worse,” Ronan chokes out. “Historical nerdy _and_ comic book nerdy at the same time? Gansey, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Gansey’s mouth drops open.

“How can you say that? It’s obvious that the themes of personal redemption, betrayal, and seeking a metaphorical ‘holy grail’ is the forefront of most-”

“Nope, stop, you’re done,” Ronan cuts Gansey off abruptly, covering Gansey’s mouth with his hand. “I am way too sober to put up with this crap.”

Gansey pulls Ronan’s hand away from his mouth with a glare as Blue giggles.

“You’re not planning on drinking, are you?” Gansey asks cautiously, eyeing the glass of wine in Ronan’s other hand. Ronan gives him an unamused look. Adam notices Ronan hasn’t even taken a single sip.

“No, _dad_ ,” he replies, handing his glass to Gansey. “Which means you have to suppress being boring, nerdy Gansey tonight, unless you want to _personally_ drive me to alcoholism.”

Gansey rolls his eyes, but seems content with Ronan’s response, taking a sip of Ronan’s untouched wine.

“Oh, Adam, that reminds me, there is someone I wanted you to meet.”

Before Adam can react, he his swept away by Gansey, leading him to meet a man with a white beard who happens to be a neurosurgeon eager to pick Adam’s brain about Harvard’s admissions process.

Adam is passed along from guest to guest by an over zealous Gansey. He is introduced and engages in some small talk with a pulmonary specialist, a human rights lawyer, a senator, a cattle rancher, a trophy wife, and even a NASA engineer, before finally excusing himself from Gansey’s plastic smile in order to get another glass of wine.

He has been separated from Ronan for a measly thirty minutes, but it feels like he has been at this dinner party for ages and he already feels exhausted. A server approaches him with an amuse-bouche. There doesn’t appear to be anything green on it and his stomach is rumbling, so he eagerly takes three before making his way outside for some fresh air.

As Adam shoves something that tastes like shrimp into his mouth, he makes his way into the gardens. The paths are lit with small foot lights, but it is hard to differentiate the plants in the dark, chilly, night. Adam instead finds his way to an elegant, marble fountain, the trickling of the water calming his senses. There is a matching stone bench beside it, roses carved into its back.

Adam loosens his tie and unbuttons the top of his collar. He lets the cool winter air caress his cheeks and necks and takes several long breaths.

“Trying to hide too?” comes Blue’s soft voice from behind his left shoulder. Adam turns around and smiles. Her cheeks and nose are slightly red from the chill, and she has Gansey’s velvet jacket wrapped around her shoulders for warmth.

“Just not used to…all of this,” Adam replies, waving around the large estate.

“No kidding.”

“No kidding? This might be your legacy some day,” Adam says meaningfully.

“Oh god, don’t even go there,” Blue begs.

“Would you marry Gansey, if he asked?” Adam inquires cheekily. Blue stares down at her shoes, deep in thought.

“You know what, I think I would.”

“Really?” Adam responds, brow raised. “You would succumb to the patriarchal institution of marriage?”

“For Gansey… Yeah, I would.”

“Wow,” Adam says, smiling. There has always been something about Blue and Gansey’s relationship that has made him feel warm inside. Even if he used to date Blue, even if some of those old feelings for her pop into his head once in a while, something about Blue and Gansey together has always felt right. To Adam, they were the textbook definition of love.

“I know,” Blue sighs. But she looks up at him and returns his smile, however it melts away in an instant. “Holy shit, Adam, is that a hickey?!”

Adam’s eyes widen and his hand clamps over his neck.

_Dammit, Ronan._

“Oh my god, it is!” Blue squeals. “Who’s the girl!? How could you not have told me immediately?”

“It’s, uh, still very new,” Adam mumbles. He wasn’t prepared for this conversation with Blue. But based on her reaction, Gansey has kept his mouth shut about what he knows of Ronan and Adam’s first kiss.

“You have to tell me everything! Do I know her?”

“You can say that,” Adam replies with a laugh.

“I do?” Blue’s eyes widen in glee. “Who? Who? Who?!!” Blue pokes Adam in the arm with each word.

Adam sucks in a deep breath.

“Promise not to freak out?”

“Of course! I’m cool as a cucumber.”

Adam swallows.

“It’s Ronan.”

“Say what now?” Blue blinks.

Adam laughs.

“Ronan. Him and I have sorta…hooked up.”

“Say _what_ now?” Blue’s eyes go wide, her mouth open in awe.

Adam thinks back to their conversation this afternoon.

“Well, more than hooked up. We’re kinda seeing each other, I guess.”

“You? And the Snake?”

“Must you call him that?” Adam asks with a wince.

“Wait. Oh my god, you’re here as his date!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been staying with him and his brothers for the holidays.”

“You’ve been staying with his family? Jesus, how long has this been going on?” Blue asks.

“Technically…. A few days.”

“What?!” Blue gasps. “Does Gansey know?”

“He might have figured it out by now,” Adam admits.

“I need a drink,” Blue says, collapsing onto the stone bench. Adam sits next to her. “Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish. Never in a million years…” she mumbles to herself.

“Really?” he asks.

“No,” Blue sighs, shaking her head. “Actually, in a way it makes perfect sense.”

She scoots close to Adam, links their arms, and rests her head on his shoulder.

“I’m happy if you’re happy,” she says, staring at the fountain.

“I’m happy,” Adam says. He is surprised by how much he means it.

“If he messes up, let me know. I’ll kill him.”

Adam chuckles. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be able to defend my own honor.”

“If you say so,” she hums.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Adam starts to feel Blue shivering next to him.

“We should go back inside,” he offers, wrapping an arm around her to keep her warm.

“Yeah, we should. Last I saw, Helen had Ronan cornered with a bunch of Republican senators telling the story about the time he got sick on their yacht.”

“Oh god, we should probably rescue him,” Adam suggests, trying not to smile at the mental image of Helen so proficiently embarrassing Ronan.

“Or not,” Blue counters with a wicked smirk of her own. “Helen torturing Ronan is the only entertainment the Gansey’s are providing tonight.”

“You’re awful,” Adam says affectionately, getting to his feet and gallantly offering Blue his hand.

“Fine,” She sighs dramatically. “But only because I’m really hungry.”

“Me too,” Adam admits as he pulls Blue to her feet. They link arms and start making their way back to the party.

“Oh, fair warning, don’t eat anything with the green sauce on it,” Blue adds emphatically.

“Okay, someone seriously needs to explain to me what’s up with this green sauce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just make Declan Lynch into Adam’s fairy godmother? Yes. Yes I did.  
> #dealwithit
> 
> Also, I'm continuously amused (and flattered) by the comments you are leaving on this fic. They're so great. Never stop.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: don't eat the green sauce.

They sit in the library. It is clear this is Gansey’s favourite room. The way he had crawled into the big white-cushioned chair, his knees tucked under him, his wireframes balancing on his nose, it was so practiced. This library is Gansey’s second skin and the only room in the house where his back isn’t rim-rod straight and his face relaxed; the plastic smile Adam hates so much is finally gone.

Adam sits across from him, in a plushy green chair, a glass of scotch in his hand. He can’t remember how the scotch got in his hand, but someone had handed it to him as a post-prandial cocktail. Adam squirms in the seat. He has sunk too deep into its plush cushion and now he is having difficulty escaping its clutches without spilling his drink. He would rather die than spill the drink. Declan’s suit is far too expensive to ruin.

Gansey pushes his glasses up his nose, an amused expression on his face. Adam isn’t sure if watching him struggle with the damn chair is amusing, or the fact that he had shown up to his party with Ronan is amusing.

“So, things worked out in the end?” Gansey asks, his smile coy.

“You can say that,” Adam says.

“It’s official? You two are… a thing?” Gansey is so careful with his words, Adam doesn’t know if he should be annoyed or charmed. They are all friends, after all, and it’s a bit unnecessary for him to feel he needs to talk to Adam like they are negotiating a peace treaty.

“We’re official,” Adam confirms.

“And you’re serious about him then?”

“ _Gansey,_ ” Adam says impatiently. “Yes. I genuinely like him. A lot. I’m not just messing around with him. I swear.”

 Gansey’s smile widens.

“He has been pining after you so long, even I wanted to strangle him,” Gansey admits with a shrug. This causes Adam to blink. “It was so painfully obvious. Ronan is just not that good at expressing his feelings.”

“You mean all his insults were code for ‘I like you’,” Adam states unamused.

“Exactly. That’s how I know he actually adores Blue. Lucky for me, Blue speaks the same language.”

“I think you all might be a little bit insane,” Adam deadpans. Gansey laughs. It’s genuine, not the false giggles he has been throwing around all night for his guests. Adam can’t help but smile himself upon hearing it.

“Does Declan know?” Gansey asks, suddenly very serious.

“Yes.”

Gansey winces.

“How did _that_ go?” he asks.

“I think he warmed up to me once I got Aurora’s approval.”

“Sorry?” Gansey seems suddenly taken aback.

“I met their mom. She spoke to me.”

“She spoke to you? Like directly to you?” Gansey’s eyes are wide and bright, his smile back on his face.

“Yeah. I think she likes me.”

“Adam!” Gansey jumps up from his chair, alight with joyful energy. “Adam, that’s amazing!”

“I’ve heard.”

“No seriously!” Gansey says, grabbing Adam’s hand, shaking with excitement. “Tell me, what did she say?”

“She, uh…” Adam feels himself blush. “Called me a prince. Asked me to visit again.”

Gansey laughs, proud and free and he lunges to hug Adam. Adam has to fight hard not to spill his drink all over the chair.

“Oh, Adam. Do you realize how special that is? I used to visit her with the boys weekly and after all those years, she’s only ever said three words to me.”

“Really? What did she say?”

Gansey draws back, he’s still smiling, but now his expression is slightly somber

“‘Look after him’.”

Adam nods. Of course. Even Aurora can see how Gansey is Ronan’s guardian angel.

“I’m happy for you both,” Gansey adds, squeezing Adam’s shoulder. “I think you two are going to be good for each other.”

Adam again is unsure if he should be annoyed at Gansey’s patronizing tone, or thrilled he has Gansey’s approval and acceptance. Either way, their friends know now. And they all seem to be at peace with the news.

The door opens, and Helen walks in.

“Adam!” she says happily. “Finally found you! I’ve been dying to hear all about Harvard. Brother dear, you wouldn’t mind if I took him off your hands for a while?”

Adam turns to Gansey beseechingly. Gansey shrugs, an innocent look on his face.

“He’s all yours.”

Adam isn’t sure if Gansey and Helen are playing some game with him, but Helen deftly plucks the drink from Adam’s hand, swallows the entire glass’ contents in one large gulp, hands the empty glass to Gansey, and pulls Adam to his feet with a surprising amount of strength.

“Come, Adam, let me show you around.”

Adam gives Gansey one last furtive glance over his shoulder. Gansey waves at him as Helen leads him out of the library, her arm around his waist.

“Finally, I thought I would never get you alone,” she says with a huff. She leads him down an empty hall, to a carpeted staircase.

“Where are we going?” Adam asks nervously.

“Why, to the most pleasurable room in the house,” Helen says, raising one perfect eyebrow meaningfully.

“Uh…”

“The kitchen, Adam,” she says with smirk.

She takes him down the stairs and turns away from the main dining area where most of the party guests are still lounging and eating. The hallway she leads them through is alight with candelabra and the only people here are the servers in their plain black uniforms. A blonde man politely holds open the door for them and Adam is hit with the heavy scents and heat of the kitchen.

There are several chefs in full uniform, bustling about and yelling orders to sous chefs and servers. Things are still being chopped, food is still being plated, and although Adam has had a chance to eat, there are lots of things sitting on counters he would gladly shove into his mouth.

Helen takes a deep breath, leaning against a counter. Without an ounce of shame, she plucks some wafer covered in a mousse from one of the plates next to her and pops it in her mouth.

“I barely got to eat two bites,” she explains with a shrug, licking her fingers clean. The sight of her tongue darting out is extremely erotic, and she sucks her thumb a second longer than necessary. Her eyes flash to Adam, catching him watching and he immediately looks away. Helen lets out a cackle.

“Oh Adam, you’re allowed to look, that was the point,” she teases. “Here.” She offers the plate to Adam. He takes one and pops it in his mouth. “What do you think?” she asks.

It’s a lobster mousse, with a hint of green onion. It’s creamy and light.

“Delicious,” he says honestly. Helen nods.

“I’m usually in charge of the menu. When I ask to add something new, mother always panics. It’s good to have an unbiased tongue let me know what works and what doesn’t. For example,” Helen pauses, goes on her tiptoes and looks around the various counters. “Where is it,” she grumbles, and she steps away from a perplexed Adam. She whispers something into one of the sous chef’s ears and he smiles and points to a far table.

“Aha!” she declares, skipping to it gracefully (despite the height of her heals), and comes back with another plate. On it there are delicate, thinly rolled, flakey pastries, almost the shape and size of cigarettes, placed in a perfect circle around a wooden carved bowl. Inside the bowl is a dipping sauce. It’s green with tiny flecks of red in it. Helen smiles winningly.

“Now try this.”

Adam looks down at the sauce, looks up a Helen. He hesitates, not trying to offend, but having three separate warnings ring inside his head.

_Don’t eat the green sauce._

“Uh, no thanks,” he refuses politely.

“So they do like you, after all,” Helen says, placing the plate back onto the counter after a heartbeat. Adam stares at her.

“What’s with the green sauce?” he asks suspiciously.

“Gansey family joke,” Helen replies, picking up one of the pastries and popping it into her mouth, sans sauce. “We offer that plate to people we don’t know well. The sauce is made of cilantro, garlic, olive oil, lemon, and ghost peppers. Have you ever heard of a ghost pepper?” she asks.

“It’s one of the spiciest in the world,” Adam says. He’s watched enough Food Network to know that.

“Yes, it is,” she says with a nod. “Over a million Scoville units. Quite a bite, that sauce. If you aren’t warned about it ahead of time and go in for it, we instantly know that our people don’t trust you. Or that you are too stupid to listen to sound advice. The only rule is that a Gansey is not allowed to be the one to warn you. It has to come from someone else. It let’s us know what people really think of you.”

“Isn’t that a bit mean?” Adam points out.

“It’s just spicy, Adam, it’s not poisoned,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But if someone goes into a coughing fit looking desperately for water at one of our parties, it’s a subtle way to let us know not to invite them back. When the boys were young, they’d always challenge each other to see who could eat the most. You would never believe who won that contest.”

“Who?” Adam asks.

“Henry Cheng,” Helen says with a shrug. Adam blinks. She was right, he never would have guessed that. “Koreans apparently love their spicy food,” she explains. “That boy barely broke a sweat. The Irish, on the other hand, did not fare so well. All three of the Lynches have tried the green for shits and giggles, and all three of the Lynches have never tried it again.”

“So you brought me down here to test me?” Adam accuses with a frown. Helen laughs.

“Maybe. But I knew you’d pass. Especially after spending and evening with Ronan looking like he wants to rip my skin off every time I touch you.”

Adam freezes. Helen laughs again and pinches Adam’s cheek.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve known Ronan almost his whole life. I wish one day I can find someone who looks at me the way that boy looks at you. I’ve never seen Ronan Lynch smitten before. It’s made the evening all the more amusing… flirting with you in front of him.”

“Again, a bit mean, no?” Adam says. He’s starting to empathize with why Ronan reacts to this woman with such disdain.

“I’m just having a bit of fun,” Helen says innocently. “Ronan is family to us. And he’s just so easy to tease. If it’s bothering you, I’ll stop,” she adds with a bow of her head.

“I think he’s at least had enough for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Helen acquiesces. “Although, I’m a bit surprised.”

“At what?” Adam asks suspiciously.

“You and Ronan. An item.”

“Why?”

Helen shrugs. “Well, Ronan is a fiery, emotional, loose canon. And you’re… more cold, logical. You live up here,” and Helen gently taps a perfectly manicured nail against Adam’s forehead. “And he lives down here.” Helen then taps Adam in the centre of his chest.

Adam simply stares.

“Not meaning any offense,” Helen adds. “But I would have thought you two would clash.”

“Maybe I like a challenge?” Adam replies defiantly.

“Really?”

Helen grabs the plate again, and offers it to Adam.

“Show me what you’ve got, Parrish,” she purrs, her voice like silk.

Adam looks down at the plate, at the green sauce that appears totally harmless. He looks at Helen. He sees heat in her eyes, her lips in a knowing smile. Everything about this woman exudes confidence and sex. Adam is both insanely attracted to her and also terrified of her. He must have a type…

He picks up one of the stick pastries, stares directly into Helen’s eyes and plunges it into the sauce. Before he can think too much about it, he pops the entire thing into his mouth.

For the first three seconds, he’s surprisingly okay. But then the heat starts to build insidiously. Then painfully. Then everything feels on fire. His eyes are watering, he can feel the snot in his nose building. He pants, taking in deep breaths, but the heat is only getting worse. Even after he has swallowed, even after his mouth is clear, the pain is still increasing. His entire face feels unbearably hot.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he pants. Helen laughs, waves one of the servers over. Before Adam can think, there’s a glass of milk shoved into his hand and he chugs it desperately. There is some relief, but the pain is mostly still present.

“It’s going to hurt for a while,” Helen warns. “I’d stick to milk for the rest of the night.”

Adam coughs, wipes the tears from his eyes.

“Here,” Helen offers him a handkerchief. God knows where she was keeping it on that dress, but Adam uses it to blow his nose, wipe his eyes. There’s already a new glass of milk being offered to him by a server.

“I’m starting to think the Ganseys may be a cult of super-villains,” Adam says after finishing the second glass in two seconds flat.

“Mm, you wouldn’t be far off,” Helen says with a wink. “Just don’t tell Dick. He’d be heartbroken if he knew.”

Adam shakes his head, puffs out a breath. He turns to leave, his mouth still on fire, but Helen grabs his arm.

“Just out of curiosity,” she says, a flicking a stray curl of her hair behind her shoulder. “How many people warned you about the sauce?”

“Three,” Adam replies. Helen nods, releasing Adam’s arm.

“Richard will be so happy. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Adam.”

Adam has to consciously restrain himself from running out the door.

***

“Why, Parrish?” Ronan groans, with a shake of his head, but an amused twist to his lips. “I specifically told you not to eat the green sauce.”

“So did I!” Blue adds. Adam’s face is still red. He’s moved onto water, rinsing out his mouth over and over again in the powder room. Blue and Ronan are in there with him, having found him coughing and sputtering as he made his way back to the party.

“So did Matthew,” Adam adds after he spits.

“Really?” Ronan perks up, a pleased smile on his face.

“So why in seven hells did you eat it?” Blue asks.

“Pride,” Adam says simply.

“Men are such idiots,” Blue huffs.

“Who warned _you_?” Adam asks Blue. If Helen was telling the truth, Gansey would have been forbidden from telling his own girlfriend about the sauce trap.

“Henry,” Blue says happily. Ronan rolls his eyes. “Oh, get over yourself, Lynch,” she barks at him. “Henry is a better man than you’ll ever be.”

“He’s a shameless ass kisser who can barely speak English,” Ronan retorts.

“He’s a caring, witty, gentleman who speaks perfect English, ass-hat,” Blue snaps back.

“And who warned you?” Adam quickly asks Ronan before a full fledge fight erupts. Ronan swallows the insult on his tongue and turns back to Adam.

“Dad,” he says curtly. “Or, he less warned us and more dared us to eat as much as possible.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. We all ate a teaspoon of it. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And this is coming from a guy who let a prostitute shoot him up with heroin.”

Adam’s eyes go wide at the ease Ronan slips that tidbit of information.

“Again, men are _idiots_ ,” Blue reiterates.

Ronan shrugs. “It was worth it just to see mom whack dad upside the head when Matthew started crying. She was so angry. She wouldn’t talk to dad until he ate three teaspoons of it himself as penance.”

“And here I thought your mom was sweet,” Adam teases with a smile.

“She is. But that doesn’t mean she ever let dad get away with shit.”

Ronan looks at Adam. He’s smiling at the memory of his parents’ antics. He’s smiling at Adam. He’s smiling in front of Blue. Adam smiles back. He wants to reach out, grab Ronan’s hand, kiss his knuckles, but he doesn’t. Not in the Gansey’s powder room. Not in front of Blue. There is a twinkle in Ronan’s eyes, as if he knows exactly what Adam is thinking. The pain in Adam’s mouth is now a dull burning. Not too different than the feeling in his stomach when Ronan looks at him like that.

Blue clears her throat, shifts her weight from foot to foot. Neither man takes their eyes away from the other.

“Uh, maybe I should go find Gansey. Let him know Adam survived initiation,” she says jokingly.

“Yeah, go do that,” Ronan says, a sharp smile on his lips, his eyes boring into Adam. Adam feels his breath catch, the lust rising. He doesn’t know how Ronan does that to him, makes him so damn dizzy with desire, but he does.

“Right,” Blue says awkwardly, eyeing them both again before stepping out of the cramped space.

As soon as the door clicks behind Blue, Ronan reaches past Adam to lock it. Adam raises a brow.

“Are you holding me hostage?” he asks, shifting closer to Ronan, trapping Ronan against the wall.

“Are you holding _me_ hostage?” Ronan tosses back.

“Be nice to me, my mouth is still on fire.”

“You’re damn right it is,” and with that Ronan dives down to kiss Adam. The burn in his mouth and his stomach spreads down his limbs to his fingertips. Fingertips that dig into the fabric of Ronan’s black jacket, pinning him to the wall.

The powder room is cramped, but neither boy notices, their bodies pressed so close together, as if they were trying to fuse into one perfect being.

“Jesus,” Ronan gasps, pulling away. “I can feel it starting to burn on my tongue!”

Adam blinks and then starts to laugh. “Seriously?”

Ronan nods. His face contorts into something like confusion. “How does that work?” he asks.

“Capsaicin dissolved in the olive oil won’t be easily washed away by water based solvents,” Adam explains.

“I can’t believe you actually had an answer to that, nerd,” Ronan remarks with a smile.

“I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Ronan reaches out and cups Adam’s cheek with his hand. Adam could just melt into his touch. Ronan swallows, his face going serious, and drops his hand suddenly.

“What?” Adam asks, worried. Ronan puts his hands on Adam’s shoulders and gently nudges him to take a step back.

“I am dangerously close to fucking you in this tiny bathroom,” Ronan explains, “and that would not be a very polite thing to do.”

“Since when do you care about being polite?” Adam scoffs.

“Since Helen Gansey may be lurking outside this door waiting to skin me alive.”

Adam grins. “I can’t believe you’re scared of Gansey’s sister.”

“I can’t believe you’re attracted to Gansey’s sister.”

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to fuck me in their bathroom just to spite her.”

“I can’t believe you were stupid enough to eat the green sauce.”

They both crack at that moment, erupting into loud laughter. Adam leans against Ronan, wrapping his arms around his waist as his shoulders shake with mirth. Adam tucks his head into Ronan’s neck, his pleasant cologne drowning him.

“I do want you to, though,” Adam whispers against Ronan’s skin.

“Hm?”

“Fuck me. The way I did it to you.”

Ronan stiffens. “You don’t have to do that,” he whispers, his voice sounding off.

Adam draws back slightly, tilts his head up to look at his lover.

“I want you to. I want to feel what you felt. I need to know.”

“Know what?” Ronan asks.

“That it felt good. That I didn’t hurt you.”

Ronan lets out a long, slow exhale, his eyes suddenly looking sad.

“Adam…” Ronan plants the gentlest kiss on Adam’s forehead. “You didn’t hurt me. Please believe me when I say I loved every damn second of what you did to me. I’ll be dreaming about it for the rest of my life.”

Adam just gives Ronan a skeptical look.

“What do I have to do to convince you?” Ronan asks exasperated.

“Do it to me,” Adam answers simply. “Show me what it felt like. So I _know_.”

Ronan sighs.

“Only if you’re ready,” Ronan replies, still looking worried. “Only if you’re sure.”

Adam nods, his fingers playing with the knot of Ronan’s tie. “I’m sure. I want you to be my first.”

Ronan swallows. Adam swears Ronan’s cheeks just suddenly flared red.

“But maybe not in the Gansey’s bathroom,” Adam adds, causing Ronan to choke out another laugh.

“Declan’s closet is definitely bigger,” Ronan points out. Adam shoots Ronan and unamused look. “Well it is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, TRC just has so many secondary characters that are just a pleasure to write! Although my Helen is probably a bit more wicked than canon Helen, but in all the best ways. I'm still debating with myself if Henry is going to make an appearance (if you've read my other fics, you know well that I am a bit obsessed with Henry Cheng). I just don't want to get Henry-distracted as this is a Pynch fic after all. We'll see...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a while. I know. I'm sorry. Here, have a chapter.  
> Warnings/tags: Kavinsky and all that entails.  
> Unbeta'd.

**Boxing Day – 3:25 am**

_Bzzzzzt Bzzzzzt_

Ronan’s brow furrows at the sound. Sleep is still fuzzing his thoughts, but he is certain he knows what it is.

_Bzzzzzt Bzzzzzt_

Ah, of course. It’s the vibration of a phone against the surface of his nightstand.

Ronan cracks an eye open. The air leaves his lungs in a rush at what he sees.

_Adam._

Their noses are inches apart. This close, he can make out the shape of each individual freckle. He can count those long, ash-blonde eyelashes. He can feel the slight shift in the air as Adam exhales with each breath.

The room is suffused in darkness. Ronan doubts more than a couple of hours have passed since they crawled into bed after Gansey’s party.

_Bzzzzzt Bzzzzzt_

Ronan groans and turns around, chastising himself for not having turned off his damn phone. He touches the screen to see the alert.

Three text messages.

All from Kavinsky.

_> > I’m itching to light some fires._

_> > You bring the matches._

_> > Come on, Lynch. Time to play._

Ronan stares silently at the words, chills crawling under his skin. He isn’t sure if this feeling is excitement or revulsion. Ronan decides he rather not think about it right now. He’s tired, it’s late, he’s not even in the same state as K at the moment.

He quickly turns off his phone, tossing it onto the floor carelessly, and turns his body to inch closer and closer to the sleeping form next to him.

Adam shifts in his sleep, fitting himself into the curve of Ronan’s neck and chest. Ronan’s heart flutters. He wraps an arm around Adam, holding him close. He forgets about those texts almost instantly as he drifts back to sleep.

***

**December 27 th – 12:26 pm**

Adam tosses his bag into the trunk of the BMW. He turns, waiting for Ronan to pass him the other bags, only to find him holding a laughing Matthew in a headlock. Ronan is wearing his trademark shit-eating grin while Matthew is slapping Ronan’s arm in defeat.

Ronan lets go of Matthew, rubbing his blond curls more aggressively than necessary. Matthew gives Ronan the finger, which causes Ronan to laugh and Declan to frown.

“He gets all his bad habits from you, you know,” Declan points out unamused.

“Damn right,” Ronan says proudly. Declan shakes his head, but Adam could swear there was a hint of a grin on his lips. Adam watches Declan march towards him. It’s a particularly dramatic scene in the dark lighting of the apartment’s garage.

“Well,” Declan starts, seeming to be thinking hard how to phrase his next words. Adam waits patiently, but if he were to be honest with himself, he is enjoying watching the great Declan Lynch at a loss for words.

Declan finally just offers Adam his hand. Adam takes it and smiles.

“Until Easter, I imagine,” Declan says casually. Although there is something about the tone of Declan’s voice that Adam suspects implies a hidden meaning. He isn’t sure if it a request, a warning, or a challenge.

“As long as I get the invite directly from you this time,” Adam says pleasantly. Declan smirks.

“Don’t forget, you promised to visit our mother again.”

“That I did.”

Ronan clears his throat, and Adam and Declan turn to look at him and the multiple bags hanging from his arms.

Declan steps out of the way so Ronan can finish loading the car. He slams the trunk closed with more force than necessary, but that’s just Ronan in a nutshell.

“Stay out of trouble,” Declan tells Ronan pointedly. Ronan rolls his eyes and steps away to duck into the driver’s seat.

“One day he’ll thank me for actually caring,” Declan grumbles.

“Yeah, but probably only when you are on your death bed,” Adam replies.

“Yeah, probably.”

Declan winks at Adam and heads back to the elevator, wrapping an arm around Matthew’s shoulders on the way.

Adam shakes his head, slightly impressed with himself for having survived Declan Lynch. He may have even earned his respect.

He climbs into the passenger seat. Ronan is staring down at his phone, a frown on his face.

“What’s up?” Adam asks.

Ronan quickly taps out a text message, before tossing the phone into the back seat.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Adam responds.

“No,” Ronan agrees, looking Adam in the eye. “There were definitely some memorable highlights.”

“Such as?” Adam asks teasingly.

Ronan starts the BMW’s engine and manoeuvres it out of the garage, clearly not planning to elaborate.

“I’m not sure which I liked more,” Adam fills into the silence. “The part where Matthew saw right through us? Or the part where Helen saw right through us? Or was it the part where Declan saw right through us and decided to give me a midnight lecture about it?”

Ronan laughs.

“I liked the part where you borrowed Declan’s suit. And then the part where I got to rip it off you.”

“I liked the part where Helen told all your embarrassing childhood stories to all those senators.”

Ronan shudders.

“I definitely did _not_ like that part.”

Adam laughs. It’s open and joyful and loud enough to mask the sound of Ronan’s phone vibrating insistently in the back of the car.

***

**December 27 th – 8:09pm**

Snow gently falls onto the windshield. Adam can barely see a few yards in front of him, but Ronan seems unbothered by the loss of visibility, still pushing the car to 10 mph above the speed limit on the mostly empty roads.

A comfortable silence has fallen over the lovers, Ronan concentrating on driving, Adam checking his winter semester schedule, texting Blue, and occasionally glaring at the music console when a particularly annoying EDM song comes on.

Adam’s phone vibrates in his hand as Blue sends him another taunt.

_> > Have you asked him to draw you like one of his French girls yet?_

Adam snorts. This has been going on since Christmas; Blue savouring every opportunity she gets to tease Adam about his new relationship.

Ronan quirks an eyebrow at Adam, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Just Blue,” Adam explains. “She wants to know if you have sketched my nude portrait yet.”

Ronan frowns, but does not reply.

“Have you?” Adam asks, a teasing smile on his face.

“No. Do you want me to?” Ronan asks, just as mockingly.

“Hmmmm,” Adam actually ponders it. He isn’t sure if he is ready for something that intimate. But the egotistical side of his brain thrills at the idea of him being the object of Ronan’s art.

“I have…” Ronan trails off, a conflicting expression on his face.

“You have what?” Adam prods.

“I have drawn your portrait. Just your face,” Ronan adds quickly. “Just a doodle, really.”

Adam smiles, flattered.

“When?”

Ronan swallows. He is very determined to not take his eyes off the road.

“A while ago.”

“When?” Adam repeats.

“October. You had passed out on the couch while studying. You were drooling on your anatomy notes.”

“Oh god,” Adam says embarrassed, covering his face with his hand.

“It was the cutest thing I had ever seen,” Ronan continues, a soft smile on his features. “You were out cold. I even kicked your leg to try to wake you up. Nothing. So I grabbed my sketchpad and drew you instead.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Ronan purses his lips, considering his answer. “I think I fell a little in love with you in that moment.”

Adam feels something warm curl in his chest.

“I think your art has that effect on people,” he replies.

“Does it?” Ronan asks skeptically.

“I think I fell a little in love with you the first time I saw your studio,” Adam admits. “I could have stared at your art for hours, had you let me.”

Ronan finally glances at Adam, even let’s his eyes linger for a heartbeat, scanning his face. Based on Ronan’s surprised expression, Adam suspects he is looking for sincerity. Adam gives it to him. Ronan’s eyes dart back to the road. Adam swears Ronan is blushing again.

“Will you show it to me?”

“What?”

“The sketch.”

Ronan hesitates.

“Okay.” The word is barely a whisper, and it clearly took Ronan effort to let it out. It doesn’t seem like a particularly major request, but Adam feels Ronan agreeing to this is some kind of milestone. He is starting to learn just how possessive Ronan is with his art.

“Why doesn’t Declan have any of your pieces?” he asks.

“He does.”

Adam seems surprised by that.

“Then why aren’t they in his apartment?”

“You’ve seen his apartment,” Ronan says as if those words are sufficient explanation.

“Yes, and?” Adam prompts.

“That whole place is manufactured bullshit. It’s not a real home.”

“Then where’s his real home?”

“The Barns.”

A chill takes hold of Adam. He knows so little of this mysterious place; this home Ronan is forbidden to return to. The home Ronan clearly yearns for. Adam can’t imagine what it is like. He doesn’t even know if it is literally a barn. And based on the cold expression on Ronan’s face, he doesn’t dare ask. Not yet. But maybe someday.

***

**December 31 st – 6pm**

Ronan is doing something he has never done before. He is painting out in the open in their apartment. Ronan usually paints in his studio at school. Or hidden behind closed doors. His painting has always been for him and him alone. It is the most personal and vulnerable part of his soul. He is always astounded how people don’t seem to understand that. And how strange that the one person who did understand was Declan, who won’t hang up his paintings in his apartment because he knows Ronan wouldn’t want him to. Declan has never asked for a piece of Ronan’s work, but he has never thrown out any of the canvases Ronan had created in rehab. He was the only person who may have caught the hurt in Ronan’s face when their mother had destroyed the painting he had given her.

The day Adam had been stranded on campus and Ronan had allowed him to enter his studio was one of the scariest moments of his life. It was impulsive, and random, and foolish. It was his subconscious telling him what he had wanted all along. He didn’t want to hear Adam’s comments or thoughts. He was sure that Adam would offer some empty, polite complement and that be that. But Adam had looked at his work. Really _looked_. And had seen Ronan’s soul. And had fell a bit in love with Ronan at that moment. He knows this now, because Adam had told him so. He still has trouble believing it.

All this leading up to Ronan, on New Year’s Eve, painting in his apartment, his easel set up on the small kitchen table. He is finally at ease with Adam seeing this side of himself.

Adam sits on the living room couch, constantly straining his neck to see Ronan’s progress while pretending to be watching tv. Ronan smiles to himself. As self-conscious as he is with his art, he enjoys Adam’s curiosity about the process. Adam likely hasn’t painted anything since kindergarten. But Adam is a collector of knowledge. He likes to take everything apart, see how it works. So he had watched Ronan mix his paints. Watched Ronan set up the easel. He had watched Ronan sketch only a few lines with a pencil, just for some guidance. He listened aptly when Ronan explained the difference between wet on dry and wet on wet and dry on dry.

Ronan purses his lip trying to get that pale silvery grey just right. The trip to D.C. had inspired an image in Ronan’s head. Ronan is attempting a buck, walking on a pool of water rippling beneath its hooves. The buck faces away from Ronan, making its way towards blue skies turning orange and pink with the setting sun. The buck is silver, its coat glittering in the fading sunlight. The water has haunting depths of deep blues. There are shadows beneath the pool, but the buck doesn’t seem to notice. It is blind to everything but the last bit of light in the distance.

As Ronan adds pale accents on the coat, to give the fur texture, there is a knock on the door. Well, calling it a knock would be generous. More like an insistent bang. Ronan almost drops the paintbrush when the bang is followed by a very angry, very familiar voice.

“Lynch, you fucking cunt, open up!”

Adam and Ronan turn to stare at one another. Adam looks confused. He doesn’t know the voice as intimately as Ronan does, so he doesn’t recognize it. But Ronan would know that voice anywhere.

“Lynch, your fucking weak ass car is here, I know you’re home. I will break down this fucking door if I have to!”

Adam’s eyes are wide. Ronan can read his expression. He quickly shakes his head before Adam does something sane and rational like call the cops. Ronan quickly puts down his paint palette and makes his way to the door.

He throws it open, his most dangerous scowl on his face.

“K, what the actual fuck,” he growls.

“Fucking about time!” Kavinsky gasps. He moves to enter the apartment, but Ronan blocks his way.

“What do you want?” Ronan seethes.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Kavinsky asks. “You acting like you don’t want to see me.”

“Because I _don’t_ want to see you,” Ronan snaps.

“Aw, man, don’t tell me you’re still mad about the little pick-me-up I put in your beer? That shit is expensive, you know.”

“Get the fuck out of here, K,” Ronan replies harshly, and moves to close the door in Kavinsky’s face. Kavinsky blocks it with his foot.

“Come on, Ro. I just want to give you an official invite. Big New Years party. Lots of trouble to get into.”

“Not. Interested,” Ronan hisses slowly between clenched teeth.

“Liar. I’m lighting this whole town on fire. You know you want to see it burn.” Kavinsky smiles, the devil incarnate, waving temptation in front of Ronan’s face.

“No. I don’t.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Kavinsky asks, suddenly serious. “What happened to my favourite mons-”

“Is there a problem here?”

Adam has appeared next to Ronan, his phone held visible in his hand. Ronan can already see 9 and 1 typed onto the screen, Adam’s thumb hovering over the final digit. Adam stares at Kavinsky, his expression blank and cold.

Kavinsky’s countenance changes at the sight of Adam. Something dark takes over his face. Something Ronan could only describe as pure hatred.

“Mind your own fucking business, little mouse,” Kavinsky warns, his eyes flashing.

“This is my business,” Adam says, his voice like ice. Ronan almost shivers. He hasn’t heard Adam talk like that since… since… since the last time Kavinsky was here.

“Lynch, tell your fucking pet to go inside,” Kavinsky sneers.

“You need to leave,” Ronan growls. “We’re done, K.”

“Excuse me?” Kavinsky asks with a glare.

“Don’t come here again,” Ronan adds with finality.

Kavinsky gives Ronan a shark-like smile, reaching a hand out to touch Ronan’s cheek. “Babe, please,” he coos. “You and I are far from done-”

Kavinsky’s words get cut off as Adam grabs his wrist in a vice like grip, stopping his hand from ever touching Ronan’s skin. Ronan’s breath catches in his throat. Adam’s expression is still blank, but there is a tightness around his lips and eyes that make Ronan think Adam is as close to pure uncontrolled fury as he has ever been.

“Don’t touch him.”

The words come out of Adam’s mouth like sharpened daggers. His voice is still so soft and calm, almost like a breath on the wind. But it’s the calmness that is so terrifying. Because there is thunder brewing. It is the calm before the storm.

Kavinsky yanks his arm away viciously, his predatory grin replaced with unrestrained anger as he looks between Ronan and Adam. Adam has moved himself protectively in front of Ronan like a human shield, staring Kavinsky down unblinkingly.

“You can’t be serious,” Kavinsky spits at Ronan. “You’re going to hide behind this piece of shit?”

“You have five seconds to get off my property before I call the cops,” Adam says, steel in his voice.

“Lynch, answer me!” Kavinsky barks.

Ronan does. By wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist and holding him close to his chest. He stares at Kavinsky meaningfully from above Adam’s shoulder.

“No,” Kavinsky gasps, realization dawning. “Jesus Christ, no. You’re fucking him? _Him?_ ” Kavinsky’s words drip with disgust.

“Four,” Adam begins to count down.

“Fuck. FUUUUCCCK!” Kavinsky yells into the empty corridor. Ronan can already imagine the neighbour complaints pouring in.

“Three.”

Kavinsky takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Fine,” he says. His voice is steadier, but the hate is still written on his face. “Fine.”

“Two.”

Kavinsky opens his eyes and looks right at Adam, locking him in his gaze. Although he stares at Adam, his words are clearly meant for Ronan. “You will come crawling back to me,” he says, almost in a whisper. “And when you do, you better be ready to beg. _Beg_ like your life depends on it. Or maybe like _his_ life depends on it.”

“One.” Adam presses send and brings the phone to his ear. Kavinsky’s hateful gaze lingers on Adam for another second. Adam doesn’t flinch. Hasn’t flinched even once during the entire encounter. Kavinsky finally turns tail and disappears down the stairs.

Adam drops the phone from his ear, promptly hanging up. He turns to Ronan, still wrapped in his arms. Ronan drops them immediately when he sees the expression on Adam’s face. It is still blank. It is still pure ice.

“Adam…” Ronan starts, but doesn’t quite know how to finish. What can he really say to what just happened?

“If he ever shows up again, you call the police.” Adam’s voice wavers for the first time.

“What?”

“You do not answer the door. You do not say a word. You call the cops. Do you understand me?”

“But wh-”

The words die on Ronan’s lips as Adam’s hands come up and cup both of Ronan’s cheeks possessively.

“Do you understand me?” Adam repeats, his gaze boring into Ronan like a drill.

“Yes,” Ronan says obediently.

“We are changing your phone number, too. If he tries to make contact with you in any way, you call me or Gansey.”

“Is that really nece-”

Adam’s grip tightens around Ronan’s head.

“Do you understand?” Adam whispers vehemently, cutting off Ronan’s protest.

“Yes,” Ronan says around a swallow.

“That was a threat, Ronan,” Adam explains. “I don’t care about whatever history you have with that asshole, that was a threat. And he does not get to threaten you.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Adam hisses. Ronan startles at the words, taking a step back from Adam. Adam’s hands drop to his side, his eyes falling shut in exasperation.

“He drugged you,” Adam says slowly, not looking at Ronan. “He tried to rape you. He threatened me that night. And now he threatens you. I don’t care how strong you think you are. I don’t care how safe you think you are. Because you’re not. You can’t drop your guard. Not even for a second. Not with people like him.”

Adam opens his eyes, lifts his gaze to Ronan. The blank cold is gone from his face. There, in those pools as deep as the ocean, Ronan sees fear. He sees concern. He sees unrestrained protectiveness.

“So I need you to promise me you will stay away from him,” Adam continues. “You will call the police if he comes near our home. You will call me or Gansey if he tries to get close to you. You will change your phone number. You will alert security at school if he tries to stop by your studio. I need you to promise me these things because I will go insane with worry if you don’t. So please. Just say you promise. You told me once you never lie, so it will be enough, okay? Please...”

Adam’s voice cracks on the last word and it nearly breaks Ronan’s heart. Ronan reaches down to Adam’s hands and clasps them in his own. He brings them up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on each one.

“Okay. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Adam is a protective momma bear when he needs to be. This was never really shown in the actual novels because I think the books didn't get a chance to develop their relationship enough before the series ended. And also K was dead before Pynch became canon. But I think if K had been around post official Pynch, Adam would have zero patience for his bullshit.
> 
> Is that a Declan/Adam bromance I'm starting to develop? It may be...
> 
> Also, feel free to make me laugh with some guesses in the comments on what Ronan's painting is metaphorically representing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Explicit sexual content. Mentions of dubious consent. Mentions of drug use and physical abuse.  
> Unbeta'd

The adrenaline is still scorching Adam’s veins. He tries to sit still. He tries to read. He tries to watch tv. He even makes a cup of tea. But all he feels is fire. All he feels is anger.

He has never felt this way before. This anger is possessive. It is protective. Some piece of scum tried to threaten something that was his.

 _Ronan does not belong to you,_ his mind admonishes. But in a way, he does. They’re official. They’re dating. They’re _boyfriends_. So Ronan is his. His lover. His partner. His beautiful, complicated, paradox of softness and edges.

But still _his_.

The thought makes Adam’s fingers twitch. He pops his knuckles, one by one, his eyes glancing up to Ronan. He feels so restless. He wants to punch Kavinsky, break his nose, tear his skin from his bones. He wants to lock Ronan in a cage and swallow the key. He wants to climb inside Ronan’s arms, feel their strength around his body, let his good ear press against his chest so he can be sure Ronan is alive and well with every heart beat.

_What is wrong with me?_

What is wrong, indeed. This is all new. These thoughts and feelings are chaotic and novel. They press against the back of Adam’s eyes. They make his knees bounce. They make him bite the inside of his cheek so hard, he tastes blood.

And suddenly it dawns on him.

“Ronan.”

His voice is hoarse, the name escapes like a croak. Ronan has been standing in front of his unfinished painting, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at it. He had picked up the palette once, then put it back down again to stare some more. As if he has forgotten how to paint.

“Ronan.”

Adam’s second call finally gets through, and Ronan turns to look at him on the couch, a question in his eyes.

“Come here.”

Ronan does. He slowly steps around Adam, plops himself on the cushion next to him. He exhales dramatically, let’s his head fall back onto the cushion, but snakes his arm around Adam’s shoulders casually.

Adam sighs with some contentment and lets his temple fall into his favourite place: that little divot under Ronan’s jaw. Adam wraps his arms around Ronan’s chest, his body clinging tighter than necessary.

And as he had hoped, the world goes quiet. The anger, the possessive thoughts, the worry, it all just disappears. He closes his eyes and listens. The silence is like a warm blanket. For the first time ever, he finds it truly comforting.

“He followed me to Boston.”

Adam blinks his eyes open, his brain slowly processing the words Ronan just uttered.

“What?”

Ronan shifts their bodies so he can properly speak to Adam face-to-face. But both men keep their arms around the other.

“Kavinsky followed me to Boston,” Ronan clarifies. “After I got out of rehab.”

“Are you serious?”

Ronan nods.

“I knew him from high school. We went to this bullshit prep school. Gansey too.”

Adam straightens. He can’t help but listen attentively when Ronan dares divulge parts of his past to him.

“His family is part of the Bulgarian mob or something. He was dealing drugs to idiot rich boys since he was twelve.”

“Jesus,” Adam gasps.

“I barely spoke to him. Not until…” Ronan trails off, swallows, closes his eyes. “Not until my dad died.” Ronan pauses, or maybe hesitates. Adam wonders if he is afraid to share too much too soon. But then Ronan nods, maybe to himself, and continues.

“He challenged me to my first drag race, gave me my first high, and my first blow job.”

Then Ronan sucks in a breath, and waits. Adam understands it is his turn to say something, and Ronan expects it to be judgemental.

“What happened to him when you went to rehab?” Adam asks. He wants Ronan to know the details of his depravities are not important to him. A smile curves Ronan’s lips.

“He came to visit me once. Only once. Tried to lure me out too. Waved some fucking Molly right in front of my face.”

“And?” Adam prompts.

“It was the first and only time Richard Campbell Gansey the Third punched someone.”

Adam’s eyes widen.

“You’re kidding?”

Ronan’s smile grows at the memory.

“I thought I had taught him how to box, but the idiot still managed to break his thumb,” Ronan reminisces fondly. “But K got the message. His nose wasn’t always crooked, you know.”

Adam let’s out a long breath that almost turns into a giggle. “I think I just got a little bit of a man-crush on Gansey,” he admits, feeling his own lips twist into a smile at the imagery.

“Don’t we all?” Ronan agrees. “When I got out, I thought that was it. K would be just another dark smudge in the spiraling hell that was my life. But he found out about Harvard. Nothing stays a secret long at Aglionby. Those assholes gossip more than a cheerleading squad.”

Ronan sighs at this point, his eyes darting to the leather bands around his wrists, the scars hidden beneath.

“He cornered me at a frosh party during orientation week. He gave me his new number. Showed me his new car. I told him I was clean. He told me to stop being a chicken shit and race him. I don’t know why I did it. But I did. And it felt good. The best high I had in two years.”

Ronan closes his eyes again, a look of shame on his face.

“I’m like a fucking Pavlovian dog,” Ronan mumbles. “Just seeing his name on my phone, and I feel this itch. Bad habits die hard.”

“But they do die eventually,” Adam reminds him, placing a hand on Ronan’s cheek. Ronan’s eyes open to meet his. “No one said it would be easy, but you are beating this.”

“Seeing him, though. It reminds me. What I almost was. What I would have become if it wasn’t for Gansey,” Ronan admits.

“But you’re not.”

“No. But the drugs. The sex. The racing. The few times I wasn’t so fucked up that I blacked out. Those memories…they aren’t bad ones. That’s what scares me, Adam. That when I see him, or think of him, I remember those feelings. Those cravings. How _good_ I felt when I was with him, compared to when I was alone with my thoughts.”

Adam has no words for Ronan’s confession. He only understands addiction and loss from an academic perspective. He has never experienced it. He can’t empathize. Only sympathize.

“More reason to stay away from him,” Adam states. “I wish that shit bag would just give up on you already.”

“You seem to have thoroughly put him in his place,” Ronan points out.

“Hardly,” Adam scoffs. “I’m genuinely jealous of Gansey for having actually gotten to hit him.”

Ronan laughs. “I thought you were opposed to violence, Parrish,” he teases, poking Adam in the chest.

“I’d make an exception for Joseph Kavinsky,” Adam grumbles.

“Why?” Ronan asks. His question is genuine.

“Because of the ways he can hurt you. Because of the way he looks at you like you’re food. Because his face annoys me. Does it really matter?” Adam huffs. “He has a dangerous obsession with you.”

“And I’m already taken,” Ronan finishes, smirking. Adam freezes.

“That’s not what I meant…” Adam says slowly.

“Isn’t it?”

Ronan leans into Adam, bringing his lips within a breath of Adam’s. “I thought I made it clear.”

Ronan’s eyes flutter. He is so close, Adam can smell his skin, can feel the heat off his lips, almost brushing his own. Adam feels his pulse quicken. He knows this is a very inappropriate time to start feeling aroused, based on the topic of conversation. But he can’t help it. Ronan is almost completely encasing him, and he feels his primitive brain starting to override his logical one.

“I thought you said you understood,” Ronan continues, voice suddenly an octave deeper, and Adam feels one of Ronan’s hands snaking up his chest, the other entangling in his hair.

“What are you even talking about?” Adam asks, feeling himself falling victim to his lust. Ronan’s wandering hands are not making restraint easy.

“I don’t do casual, Adam Parrish,” Ronan’s lips brush against Adam’s as he speaks. Adam feels himself going hard and hates his body for being so traitorous. “You’re _supposed_ to get jealous,” Ronan explains. “You’re _supposed_ to be protective. You’re _supposed_ to be selfish. Because we agreed, didn’t we? That we’re together.”

Ronan’s whole body is slowly pressing into Adam. He’s leaning over him now, shifting closer, leading Adam’s body to recline against the couch.

“If someone tried to touch you like that in front of me,” Ronan continues, moving his legs to straddle Adam’s hips, his strong hands guiding Adam down onto his back. “I’d want to rip their face off. I’d probably not be able to hold back. I don’t know how you did it. But you still got rid of him. You made it look so easy.”

Ronan is now on top of Adam, pressing his warm weight into him. Adam is trying to pay attention to his words, but the way Ronan’s voice has gone so deep and husky, the weight of Ronan’s frame on top of him, the blood inconveniently leaving his brain for his cock, it is all making it very difficult to focus on anything but the way Ronan feels.

“Watching you chase K away with just a look,” Ronan whispers, his lips tickling Adam’s cheek down to his jaw, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ronan finally kisses him. It’s filthy and needy and it’s everything Adam’s body wants. Adam can feel Ronan’s teeth nip at his lip, his tongue trying to push his way into his mouth. Adam lets him. Adam is so close to the edge, he’d let Ronan do just about anything to him in this moment.

In fact, there are several things Adam has been yearning for Ronan to do to him.

Which makes Adam press a hand to Ronan’s chest to gently break them apart. Ronan looks absolutely wrecked as he stares down at Adam curiously.

“I want you to fuck me,” Adam blurts out indelicately. “Right now.”

Ronan’s brows go up to his hairline in surprise.

“You sure?” he asks. Adam’s hormones currently have no patience to play this game. His hands grab Ronan’s shirt tightly, his eyes flashing almost furiously.

“I need you to fuck me,” he repeats between clenched teeth. “And if you ask me one more time if I’m sure or if I’m ready, I will burn you entire EDM collection. I will train Chainsaw peel your toenails off while you sleep. I will make you watch a sex tape of Gansey and Blue doing it in the Camaro. You are going to take me to your bedroom, and you are going to open me up nice and slow, and then you are going to fuck me until you can’t see straight, and then you’re going to grab my cock and-”

Ronan clamps a hand over Adam’s mouth, his eyes slamming shut in concentration. Adam is about to bite his hand in objection when Ronan opens his eyes and looks down at him completely distraught.

“That filthy mouth of yours is going to be the death of me,” Ronan says, taking one long deep breath. “Keep this up, and I won’t even make it to my bedroom,” he warns. Almost regretfully, Ronan climbs off of Adam, holding his hand out to him. Adam takes it and Ronan pulls him up to his feet. They stare at each other for a moment, standing face to face, both completely short circuiting from their desire.

“Okay,” Ronan yields, his eyes hungrily drinking in Adam. Adam smiles triumphantly and without another word, turns away and starts marching to Ronan’s bedroom.

He hears Ronan’s footfalls follow him without further protest. As he passes the apartment’s front door, he starts undressing. He throws his shirt onto the floor and bunny hops out of his socks as he enters Ronan’s room.

Without a missing a beat, he grabs Chainsaw’s cage, rattling her sleeping form awake within it. Adam ignores her caws of protests as he marches her to the kitchen, plopping both raven and cage on the table next to Ronan’s easel. Ronan watches transfixed from his door as Adam makes his way back, unbuttoning his jeans as he goes.

“Stop staring and start undressing,” Adam orders as he passes Ronan, kicking his jeans off. Ronan laughs. Adam is a man on a mission and there will be consequences if Ronan doesn’t fall into line.

***

Adan is already naked, sitting patiently on Ronan’s bed, a very serious expression on his face, as Ronan throws off his clothes. Ronan puts his hands on his hips, staring at Adam thoughtfully.

Adam surprisingly looks calm. Ronan thought he’d be nervous. Like the first time he got behind the wheel of a car. Like when he opened his admissions letter to Harvard. But Adam just sits there, waiting, watching. And Ronan hasn’t a clue how to proceed.

Because usually Ronan is the one being pinned to the bed. He is the one being torn into with rough hands and deep throated grunts. But Ronan remembers that this is Adam. That neither of them are high as a kite. That there is nothing to prove.

His mouth is dry as he tries not to stare at Adam’s erect cock. His own dick tightens between his legs. Adam is like a magnet. He feels his entire world gravitate towards this boy. And yet he can’t seem to move from where he stands.

Until Adam asks, “Well? How do you want me?”

A good starting point. Ronan walks to the head of his bed, grabs his pillow and places it next to Adam’s hips.

“Lie down,” Ronan instructs. “Hips on the pillow.”

Adam does as he is told, his eyes on Ronan as he grabs supplies from within his bedside table. Adam stares transfixed as Ronan spreads the clear lubricant onto his fingers. Ronan is awed that the nerves still haven’t seemed to grip Adam yet, but anticipation is definitely starting to build.

“Knees up,” Ronan says, climbing onto the bed. He places himself between Adam’s bent legs. Adam has to hold up his neck to get a proper view.

“Lay back, just relax,” Ronan instructs as he places a peck on Adam’s left calf.

“I want to watch you,” Adam explains.

“Adam.” Ronan’s voice is stern. “I put you on your back for a reason. But for this part, you need to be relaxed. Lie back, close your eyes, and tell me what feels good and what doesn’t.”

Adam hesitates.

“Adam, trust me.”

Adam seems to have a protest on his lips, but he swallows it away and instead closes his eyes and lets his head fall against Ronan’s soft mattress. And he waits. It’s Ronan’s move.

Ronan bends inbetween Adam’s thighs. He let’s his cheek gently caress Adam’s soft skin. He can feel a slight tremble in Adam’s leg, and he smiles to himself. Maybe Adam is merely playing it cool. Ronan wouldn’t be surprised. Adam’s stubborn pride could destroy galaxies.

With gentleness, he reaches his lubed fingers into Adam’s crack. It makes Adam flinch and gasp in surprise, his eyes shooting open.

“Easy, Parrish,” Ronan whispers and he places another kiss against Adam thigh. Adam nods and closes his eyes again. Ronan continues to caress his perineum, his fingers warming with the friction and Adam’s body heat.

He probes until he finds Adam’s hole with touch alone. Ronan doesn’t push in, just twirls his finger around. The skin is sensitive, and it tickles enough to make Adam’s thighs twitch.

“You’re going to have to relax, Adam.” Ronan’s voice is calm and smooth, his fingers still caressing.

“I am relaxed,” Adam says. The quiver in his thighs say otherwise.

One of Ronan’s large hands clamp down on his leg, stilling it.

“Deep breath,” Ronan says. Adam inhales long and hard. As soon as the air starts leaving his lungs Ronan plunges his finger inside.

“Jesus Christ!” Adam shouts, his body coiling. Ronan quickly uses his other hand to shove Adam’s chest down, keeping him pinned to the bed. His finger is still inside him.

“Deep breath,” Ronan repeats softly, needing to calm Adam down. Adam clenches his hands into the sheets beneath him, but takes another deep inhale.

“And out,” Ronan coaches. Adam exhales again, slowly.

“Good, keep doing that. I’m going to start moving soon, okay?”

Adam nods, taking in another breath. Unhurriedly, Ronan starts to probe deeper. He moves so gently, but he is worried it is still painful to Adam by the way is breathing is slightly stuttered.

 _This is a mistake,_ he thinks. However, he can feel Adam’s muscles start to loosen and adapt to the stretch, so he continues. Adam’s breathing starts to even out as he continues to follow Ronan’s advice and takes deep, steadying breaths.

Ronan circles inside him, pressing against his walls, reaching for…

Adam gasps. His whole body goes tight for half a second, and he’s suddenly panting. Ronan smirks.

“How’s that?” Ronan asks. Adam’s eyes are still closed, but his hands are gripping the sheets tight.

“Smart ass,” Adam mumbles. In retaliation, Ronan presses against his prostate again, hard. “Shit!” Adam moans, and this time he actually squirms against the mattress. Ronan snickers.

“You asked for this,” Ronan points out. Adam frowns as he catches his breath. There is the most beautiful flush on his face, even though he is scowling at Ronan’s taunts.

“Are you ready for more?” Ronan asks, laughter still in his voice.

“Yes.”

Of course Adam wants more.

_Stubborn idiot._

Yet Ronan can’t help but oblige. He wants to see Adam squirm like that, with _pleasure_ , again and again.

Ronan withdraws his hand, adds more lube copiously to his index and middle finger.

“Okay,” Ronan warns.

Adam is more prepared for the sensation this time as he doesn’t even flinch when Ronan starts pressing two in at once. Ronan coaxes his hole and walls to stretch, pushing his fingers in slowly. Adam’s breathing is a bit jagged again, but his body is less tense. Ronan glances up at his face: Adam’s eyes closed, his mouth is open with his breaths, clearly losing himself to the _feeling_.

Ronan tries spreading his fingers apart to open Adam wider, and he feels Adam clench around him instinctually.

“Keep breathing,” Ronan reminds him, and as incentive, uses his other hand to stroke Adam’s cock.

The air seems to get knocked right out of Adam’s lungs as soon as his dick is touched. Adam bucks up into Ronan’s palm, letting loose something that sounds a lot like, “Fucking hell!”

“Ronan, stop touching my dick,” Adam quickly pants. Ronan does, freezing completely, even the fingers inside Adam.

_Shit! Too far! You’ve gone too far…_

Adam opens his eyes and looks at Ronan, who is staring back, very worried.

“I won’t last five seconds,” Adam explains, trying to catch his breath.

_Oh._

“Then you need to start thinking some unsexy thoughts,” Ronan retorts cheekily.

“Or you need to hurry the fuck up.” Adam snaps back.

Ronan sighs, but continues to work Adam in silence, spreading, massaging, as gently as he can.

“Come on, Ronan,” Adam begs, nudging Ronan’s shoulder with his knee.

“Adam, I’m not trying to brag, but I’m not exactly small,” Ronan warns, withdrawing his fingers. “We need to do this properly.”

“And I’m not exactly fragile.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I am asking what you asked,” Adam shoots back, pushing himself up on his elbows to really hit Ronan with a glare.

Ronan glares right back. It’s almost a comical scene, seeing Adam throw Ronan such an unamused look from between his legs. But Ronan knows what this is like. He can remember the times when he wasn’t ready, when he was crudely pushed onto the floor or the couch or against the bathroom stall. He remembers what it is like to be torn open, to have someone force themselves inside without preparing him. He remembers the sight of blood dripping down the inside of his thighs and the lingering sting. The worst part, though: he remembers not caring. Because it meant he was alive. Because there was another needle or pill or pipe just around the corner if he closed his eyes and simply let it happen. And there was always a pair of arms to hold him while his mind went blank afterwards; it never mattered who they belonged to.

 _It wasn’t like that with Adam_ , he reminds himself. And that is true. With Adam it was… it was…

_Pleasure. Warmth. Trust. It felt so good. Because he wanted so bad for you to feel good._

And that’s what Ronan wants too. But Adam isn’t ready. His body is too tense, too coiled. If he fucked him now…

“Problem?” Adam asks impatiently.

“You can’t compare yourself to me. This isn’t a competition,” Ronan finally retorts darkly.

“No, this is a partnership,” Adam responds. “Between equals. Between lovers. I trust you to take care of me. Now trust me to know my limits.”

The words hit Ronan as if he had been slapped. Ronan continues to stare down at Adam silently, immobile. He knows Adam is absolutely right. He knows his own biased perspective and anxiety may be getting the best of him. But he also knows what this can be like. It can be wonderful, like it had been in Declan’s apartment. Or it can be horrible. Like in the back of Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi.

Ronan visibly shudders at the memory.

_I can’t do that him. I could never forgive myself. I can’t risk hurting him. He doesn’t understand… he just doesn’t understand._

Ronan moves to sit on the bed, his back to Adam. He lets his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs. He has to stop now, before it’s too late. Before he ruins everything.

Completely bewildered, Adam pushes himself up. He crawls down the bed to Ronan, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and plants a kiss on the back of his neck.

 _How is he so gentle?_ Ronan thinks, feeling Adam press against his back. _How can he be so gentle when all he knows is abuse?_

_How can I?_

“Ronan?” Adam says softly. Ronan cranes his neck to look at Adam. Adam flinches. Because Ronan’s expression in so terribly sombre. The words Adam was about to say die on his tongue.

“I’ve seen you hurt, Adam,” he whispers. “Really hurt. You don’t know how much that fucked me up, seeing what that bastard did to you.”

Adam’s eyes go wide. He seems genuinely surprised that Ronan is thinking about what happened with his father at a time like this.

“You’re not fragile,” Ronan continues. “I know that. But the idea that I _could_ hurt you, even unintentionally… I rather let you kill me with your bare hands than ever raise a finger against you.”

“That’s crazy,” Adam huffs.

“I know.” Ronan growls, screwing his eyes shut in frustration. “But never again. I never want to see you hurt again. I’ve had enough. Too many people in my life…I can’t keep seeing the people I care about get hurt.”

There is a tremble in Ronan’s shoulders, and he feels the air won’t enter his lungs. Everything is tight and hot. Ronan looks down at his wrist, at the leather bands, at the consequences of his suffering and self-loathing forever etched onto his skin. He feels the prickling build up in his eyes, and his natural response is to bury his face in his hands.

Adam holds Ronan tighter.

“What do you need?” Adam asks in a whisper.

Ronan would laugh at the question if he had any control of his body right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ronan mumbles barely audibly from his trembling frame.

“No,” Adam says firmly. He crawls around Ronan, straddles his lap, and sits on Ronan’s muscular thighs. Ronan’s head is still bowed, his face hidden in his hands.

“Ronan,” Adam pleas, tearing Ronan’s hands away. Ronan glances up at him, his eyes red and wet and full of shame. Adam leans down, presses their foreheads together, drapes his arms over Ronan’s shoulders.

“What do you need?” Adam asks again, trying to fill his voice with all the warmth he can muster.

_I need to forget all my mistakes. I need to remember what I have to live for. I need to know that I won’t ever treat you the way they treated me. That I won’t ever make you feel like you are worth less than nothing._

If only it was as easy as just thinking it. But Ronan knows that reality never plays out like the script inside your head. Reality is cruel. The universe is unfair. Entropy is law. All anyone can do is survive it. And try to enjoy the rare moments of happiness in between the dark.

“Tell me what you need,” Adam murmurs into the small space between them.

Ronan shakes his head as his strong hands wrap around Adam’s waist and slowly caress their way up his back.

“Nothing.” The word is breath more than speech. Ronan swallows. “Just give me a moment.”

They stay in each other’s embrace for minutes, hours, eternities. Adam is a weight, the centre of his orbit, grounding him. He feels himself slowly relax. It’s as if the trembling is being absorbed into Adam’s body with his thoughts and fears. He lets Adam drain him of his insecurities.

Adam’s eyes are closed, his breathing so steady. He looks so peaceful and Ronan allows himself to be infected by it.

“I get it now,” Ronan suddenly whispers.

“Hm?” Adam barely stirs, perhaps he had been drifting off. Ronan can sympathize; being wrapped up in Adam is enough to forget he is even awake.

“The quiet,” Ronan explains. Adam smiles.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I rewrote this chapter's end maybe 5 times. It was supposed to be sexy smutty goodness. But by now you all know I can't do that. I am not programmed to write happy sexy times just for funsies. And you know what? Lovers don't always get happy sexy times. Sometimes lovers get awkward messy times. Or angry, complicated times. Or emotional breakdown times. And in that moment, after having to deal with Krazy Kavinsky, with having Adam actually explain what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, in plain English, in the middle of sex, it just made sense Ronan would break down. Because Ronan is new at this and has never had this, so he is allowed a "does-not-compute" moment. And a "OMG what are we doing?" moment. And a "this boy deserves all the happiness in the world and how is me bumming him actually going to give him that since anal sex always involves some pain and dominance and being demeaned because that's all I know" moment.  
> The truth is Ronan is fucked up and his relationship with Kavinsky was fucked up, and that is his only reference point for what he and Adam are undertaking.  
> So yeah. This is how it plays out. This aint a fairy-tale.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everybody! Let's celebrate 2018 with a new chapter!  
> Unbeta'd

Some days Adam feels like Harvard Medical School is trying too hard to be innovative. He likes that the facilities are state of the art. He likes that they are progressive in incorporating technology into medicine. He likes that his teachers have energy and aren’t reminiscent of dinosaurs too stubborn to let go of their tenure.

But there are things about the program that is just screaming “trying too hard”. Like the fact he doesn’t have a schedule, he has “Pathways”. Or that lectures aren’t in classrooms, they are in “Learning Studios”. Just small little reminders that the school and the people who attend it think themselves somehow above the rest of the world, looking down their noses at the common peasants with their unoriginal traditions.

Quite frankly, the pretentiousness of it all pisses Adam off. But he swallows it. Because he is in Harvard fucking Medical School for crying out loud. He is set for life, with a prestigious career and a guaranteed job (after the internship…and residency…and fellowship).

For now, it is endocrinology. Diabetes mellitus. Adam has found an empty Learning Studio ( _God, seriously?)_ and is revising his notes. Beta islet pancreatic…

_My brain feels like mush._

Adam blinks. The words are blurry on the borrowed iPad. It’s unsurprising. He had been studying for three hours straight in the small room that could only comfortably seat fourteen students.

Adam lets the iPad screen go blank. He sits back in his chair, yawns unselfconsciously, stretching his arms above his head.

 _Time to go home_ , he thinks as his stomach gurgles. He wonders what Ronan is making for dinner. If Ronan made dinner.

He feels the vibration of his phone in his front pocket. He pulls it out and is surprised that it’s a call from Blue. Blue has since upgraded to texting, so for her to be calling…

“Hello?” he says cautiously.

“Adam,” she says. Her voice is calm, almost restrained.

“What’s up?” he asks, also putting on airs of casualness, but there is a sinking feeling in his belly.

“We’re hosting a party. It’s gonna be a week from Saturday. You free?”

There is still something off about Blue’s voice considering the call is for an innocuous party invite.

“Is this a Gansey party or a Blue party?” Adam asks. It’s a very important questions, as those are two very different things.

Blue ponders it for a second and replies, “As much as I want it to be a Blue party, it is probably doomed to end up as a Gansey party.”

Adam chuckles.

“And what’s the occasion?”

And here is where Blue clams up. Blue Sargent has a comeback for everything, even Ronan’s biting remarks, but in this moment, she doesn’t.

“Blue?” Adam presses.

“Just want to hang out with some people we haven’t seen in a while,” she says too quickly. “Plus it’s spring break for most colleges, so people should be free.”

“Blue,” Adam says again, this time more sternly. He isn’t buying it for a second.

“Adam,” Blue snaps back.

“Please do not insult my intelligence and pretend that’s all there is to this,” Adam retorts.

“Please just do me a solid a let me leave it at that. If I say more, Gansey will murder me.”

Adan laughs.

“I very much doubt Gansey would murder you over any secret. You could probably be a KGB spy and he’d still love you.”

“True, but he’d probably give me a long-winded lecture with big SAT words thrown in just to be an asshole, and that’s way worse than death.”

Adam laughs again.

“Okay, Blue. Just promise me it’s nothing bad.”

“I promise it’s nothing bad,” she says. Adam can imagine Blue rolling her eyes as she says it, and he feels it’s the truth. In fact, his brain is already working out the top three most likely scenarios behind this party invite.

“Fine, but also promise me I don’t have to dress up. You know, if this is a Gansey party and all…”

“Well…” Blue hesitates again.

“Oh god.”

“I wouldn’t say you have to dress up. But Gansey is probably going to invite some of his obnoxious rich kid friends. And his sister.”

“Blue, why?” Adam whines, feeling a headache come on. Adam has been spared the company of most of Gansey’s high school crowd, but he can’t imagine meeting those people would be particularly pleasant.

 _Technically Ronan is one of those people,_ his mind happily chirps in. _Yeah. And no one would ever call Ronan “pleasant”._

“How about you and I dress down, just to make a statement?” Blue offers.

“Sure. I’ll wear old overalls and chew on some hay. You can wear torn fishnets and army boots. I’ll even lay on the accent extra thick. And then introduce myself as ‘Dr. Parrish’. We’ll see how many of the one percent crowd figures it out.”

“Ha! And get Ronan to come in as much black leather as possible. Really milk the bad-biker-boy motif.”

“I know you’re joking right now, but he’s probably going to do that anyway,” Adam points out, making Blue giggle.

“How are things in Lynch land?” Blue asks.

Blue doesn’t realize that she just asked a question Adam can’t easily answer.

It’s not that Ronan and Adam as Ronan _and_ Adam have been falling apart. In fact, things have been going well. Ronan has been behaving more and more casual around Adam. They both seem content to just exist in each other’s presence, without needing to fill the silence with mindless chatter. Adam often finds himself falling asleep in Ronan’s arms on the couch, course notes scattered about. Ronan often wakes up just as Adam is about to leave for class, able to offer him a kiss goodbye. It’s both sweet and surreal. But Ronan also has been less intimate. Adam had almost thought he was going to have trouble keeping up with Ronan’s voracious sexual appetite. But now, Ronan seems hesitant to go too far with him. There’s still lots of touching and licking and frotting. But Ronan won’t let it go beyond that. It’s almost as if he feels they went too far too fast. And the rational part of Adam’s brain agrees. He doesn’t regret that night in Declan’s apartment. But he realizes that having gone so far after hooking up mere days earlier definitely put a strange strain on their relationship. Adam is still concerned about how he treated Ronan during the act. And the fact that Ronan couldn’t reciprocate in fear of hurting Adam is almost a confirmation to Adam that the act was not as pleasant for Ronan as he claims it was.

Worse, Adam still wants it. Bad. When he tries to remember the feel of Ronan’s fingers inside him, the way he kissed his thigh, the feeling of that pressure on his prostate, he can’t help but despair that he is missing out on some life changing experience. Adam’s scientific mind is dying of curiosity to know all the sensations of Ronan _moving_ inside him, to be so close and intimate and vulnerable with that impossible man. His hormones can’t help but agree. However, Adam’s scientific mind has made the induction that Ronan may not have the healthiest relationship with sex. Based on Ronan being so adamant about how he “doesn’t do casual,” Adam figures the number of relationships Ronan has had in his entire life may be a small one. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Ronan is strictly gay or bi or something else entirely, but is leaning towards the former.

That being said, sex seems to be something very separate from love to Ronan. Ronan has definitely had lots of sex. Well, at least Adam assumes so based on how confident he is about it. But sex for Ronan was never used as a way to communicate affection. Adam suspects sex for Ronan has been a means to an end. The end being either another fix or a way to forget the pain of his losses.

Adam is trying really hard to empathize with Ronan, but Adam has never seen sex that way. To Adam, sex is a physical expression of a bond that encompasses fondness and joy. Adam can count on one hand the number of people he has slept with, and he had been in a committed relationship with all of them. The idea of letting a stranger touch him is the biggest turn off he can imagine, even if it was in exchange for something he wanted (whether comfort or drugs, it doesn’t matter). That’s just technically prostitution in his mind.

_Does that mean I see Ronan as a prostitute?_

No, Adam doesn’t. Not really. But what was able to comfort Ronan during those dark times would never have comforted Adam. It only would have made him feel worse.

Adam also hasn’t forgotten the possibility that he may by Ronan’s first serious relationship. It then makes Ronan’s freak-out more plausible considering…

“Adam?” Blue asks. He realizes he hasn’t responded to her question, lost in his own thoughts.

“Things are complicated,” Adam sighs into his phone.

“Uh oh… trouble in paradise?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Adam chews his lip, thinking hard how he should phrase things.

“We both have some baggage we are learning to navigate through.”

“Ah.”

Blue knows about Adam’s father. It came up during the awkward time they were dating when Blue noticed that Adam always spent the holidays with her family. She asked why. He told her. She did not know how to respond then, having only known a family who loved her dearly. She does not know how to respond now based on the lack of any further comment.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adam says, forcing a cheerfulness into his voice he doesn’t feel. “We’re fine. Really.”

“You know that if he hurts you, I’ll kill him, right?”

Adam smiles.

“I know.”

“You better. You’re a good person, Adam. You deserve love.”

_Am I, though?_

“Thanks, Blue. And congratulations.”

“Huh?”

Adam smiles.

“On the engagement.”

“Fucking hell, how did you-”

Adam hangs up, feeling both smug and genuine happiness for his two best friends. It’s a comfort knowing that sometimes true love does prevail.

***

“Why the fuck won’t you tell me what this stupid thing is about?” Ronan complains half-heartedly as he slams the front door of his BMW.

There are already quite a few cars lining the street in front of Gansey and Blue’s humble abode. Some of them are ostentatious. Some of them are older than Adam.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Adam says nonchalantly.

“Why are you allowed to know?” Ronan asks.

“I wasn’t allowed to know. I made an educated guess and was correct.”

“Look at me! I’m Adam Parrish. I’m sooooo smart, I can read minds!” Ronan mocks.

Adam gives Ronan an unamused look, but is quickly distracted when he sees one of the most beautiful and energy efficient cars in the world.

“Holy shit, is that a Fisker?” Adam gapes in awe. He jogs over to the car, leans down to look through the windows. The interior is spotless, new, shiny. It’s almost as if the car was driven right off the lot.

“Ah fuck,” Ronan grumbles, looking at the car with disgust.

“What?” Adam asks.

“This is going to be a long night,” Ronan huffs, but won’t elaborate further.

They make their way to the door and ring the bell.

“Finally!” Blue chirps as she swings the door open. She literally pulls Adam inside by the front of his jacket.

“Maggot,” Ronan greets with a curt nod.

“Snake. Get inside, it’s freezing.”

Blue takes Adam’s jacket and gives him a _look_ before glancing at Ronan.

“I haven’t said a word, I promise,” Adam says.

“It’s true. I want to murder him,” Ronan adds.

Blue smiles approvingly and calls out, “Gansey!”

Adam sees Gansey standing in the living room, chatting animatedly to a couple of men. One is the palest person Adam has ever seen. The man looks young, younger than Adam. He has platinum blonde hair, a few errant strands poking out of the beanie on his head. His eyes are greyblue and his skin is so white it’s almost translucent. It makes the red line of a scar on his cheek all the more visible. He is dressed surprisingly casually, wearing a cardigan and skinny jeans. What makes the scene comical is the other man Gansey is talking to. This man is not young. This man is ancient. He is short and stout, with a frock of wild grey hair and matching bushy eyebrows. He has on thick spectacles and is actually sporting a bowtie, which Adam finds a bit endearing.

Gansey turns at Blue’s voice, causing the conversation between the three to abruptly stop. Ronan seems to meet eyes with the pale boy. The boy smiles and waves shyly to Ronan, who to Adam’s surprise, smiles back. The old man just tips his head to the side and examines them inquisitively.

“Lynch! Parrish!”

Gansey skips over and crushes Ronan into a hug. Ronan mumbles something incoherent, but pats Gansey on the back. Gansey then crushes Adam to him and Adam laughs in his tight embrace.

“You’re the last to arrive, you know,” Gansey points out, but not in a chastising way.

“Ronan had to fix his hair,” Adam explains.

“Ha ha,” Ronan says sarcastically.

The pale boy comes up to them, his smile wide and bright.

“Czerny, you fucking creeper!” Ronan says happily, and they share a pound hug. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks as they separate.

“California,” the boy replies.

“You’ve been in California since high school and you are still this fucking white?” Ronan asks in disbelief. The boy shrugs it off.

“Hi, I’m Noah,” the boy says to Adam, offering a hand. “Went to high school with these idiots.”

“Hi, I’m Adam.” Adam takes his hand and notices it is shockingly cold. “I live with this idiot,” he points to Ronan, “and am friends with these idiots,” he points to Blue and Gansey.

“Ohhhhh _you’re_ Adam,” Noah says with a knowing nod. Adam looks at Gansey accusingly, who puts on an innocent smile.

“Yeah, he’s _my_ Adam,” Ronan adds, wrapping an arm around Adam’s shoulder. Adam suddenly wants to hide. Not only have his friends been talking about him to strangers, but Ronan apparently has decided to be upfront today about their dating situation.

“Don’t worry, bruh, I’ve only heard good things,” Noah says placatingly. “Like how you are a super genius. And how you know cars. And how you have survived living with that asshole.”

“Shut it, Czerny,” Ronan spits back. Noah smiles. It makes him look even younger.

“What do you do in Cali?” Adam asks, desperate to take the focus of conversation away from himself.

“I’m an animator.”

“Oh. Cool. What kind of stuff?”

“Oh you know,” Gansey says nonchalantly. “Just a small company by the name of Pixar.”

“Wow,” Adam says, impressed. Noah shrugs again, as if it is no big deal.

“You still skate?” Ronan asks. Noah’s grin widens.

“Hell yeah. It’s my primary mode of transporation.”

“This dude,” Ronan says, “had the best kickflip in all of D.C.”

“Emphasis on had,” Noah adds quickly. “I’m too old to do those stunts anymore.” Noah points to his face, the scar on his cheek, for emphasis.

“Can I get you boys a drink?” Gansey offers.

“Ginger ale,” Ronan says.

“I’ll take a glass of wine if you got any,” Adam adds.

“White or red?” Gansey asks.

“White,” Adam replies.

Gansey disappears to the kitchen.

“Please tell me they’re done with those terrible Cars movies,” Ronan asks Noah, who shakes his head in response.

“They make too much merch money.”

“Fucking Disney.”

“Is anyone else scared they will pretty much own all media in like ten years?” Blue points out.

“Not if they keep me employed,” Noah says.

As those three start talking about the threats of mega-corporations, Adam attempts to slip away to find a washroom. He walks past the kitchen and sees Gansey having a heated argument with Helen as he is pouring glasses of wine. He moves quickly to avoid being spotted and finds the washroom door closed and locked.

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, and out strides a man who Adam could only characterize as larger than life. He is tall, Asian, with his hair styled glamorously atop his head, giving him at least another two inches. He is wearing colorful clothes: purple pants, yellow cardigan, bright red suspenders, his shoes a shiny pale golden brown.

The man stops in front of Adam, tilts his head to the side and stares.

“Sorry, I am so bad with names,” he says. “But we’ve met before, right?”

Adam smiles politely and nods.

“Okay, don’t tell me… Was it Alex? No. Allan? No… something with an A, right? I swear, I was able to memorize the entire periodic table in grade seven, including lanthanides and actinides, but introduce me to three people and it’s gone in thirty seconds.”

“It’s Adam,” Adam says, offering his hand.

“That’s right! The future doctor!” the boy grabs his hand enthusiastically. “I’m-”

“Henry Cheng.”

“Okay, now you’re just showing off,” he says teasingly. “We met… oh god. I think there was a pool. And maybe a lot of Ganseys…”

“Yes, is was a barbeque at the Gansey summer house in the Berkshire.”

“Of course. If I recall, Gansey’s sister is a big fan,” Henry adds with a wink. Adam feels his cheeks flush but tries to hide it.

“No need to be shy about it. You could do worse than Helen Gansey. I mean, she could probably eat you whole, but it’s a noble death in my opinion.”

“That’s a horrific thought,” Adam replies, “But I’m taken.”

“Of course you are. You’re cute and a future doctor. Plus the country bumpkin accent is swoon-worthy. Who is the lucky lady? Or gent? You should never assume in this day and age. It’s all good, as long as it’s human. Or at least humanoid. I will never understand that Apache helicopter meme.”

Henry speaks so fast and energetically, Adam almost can’t follow. Plus half of what he just said sounded like pure gibberish.

“Uh, well, I’m with R-”

“Fuck off, Cheng, he’s with me.”

Adam startles and turns to see Ronan standing behind him, outright glaring at Henry, arms crossed menacingly in front of his chest. Surprisingly, Henry doesn’t flinch or scuttle, but just stares back thoughtfully.

“Hello Ronan. It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Henry’s voice is so polite, Adam notices it makes Ronan’s scowl go even darker, but he does not reply.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m doing well. Found myself a good man. Finally learning that whole anger-management thing. How are you?’,” Henry fills in. Adam can almost envision the smoke coming out of Ronan’s ears.

“Fuck. Off.”

Henry sighs. “I don’t know why I bother, sometimes.”

“Me neither. Now fuck off. _Please,_ ” Ronan says the last word emphatically just to be a dick.

Henry shoots Adam an apologetic look before walking away.

“That was a bit rude,” Adam points out.

“He deserves it,” Ronan counters darkly.

“How so? He seems eccentric but harmless if you ask me.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Ronan says cryptically.

“Did he do something to you?” Adam asks very seriously, meaning heavy in his words.

Ronan purses his lips, but shakes his head. “No. Nothing like that.”

Adam feels tension ripple out his limbs.

“He’s just an annoyance from my childhood,” Ronan elaborates. “I don’t know why Gansey’s still friends with him. Hell, I don’t know why the Maggot is friends with him, she at least should have better taste.”

This surprises Adam. If Blue likes Henry, he can’t be that bad.

“I’m going to use the washroom,” Adam says, giving Ronan a peck on the cheek. “Make sure no one steals my wine.”

“Make it quick. Gansey is waiting for you to make his stupid announcement.”

***

The whoops and yells ring throughout Casa del Gansey. Blue proudly shows off her left hand that conspicuously does _not_ have a ring on it.

“He gave me an empty box with a tax receipt,” Blue explains to the room of confused faces. “He donated the money he would have spent on a diamond to a women’s shelter as my engagement gift.”

Adam laughs. He can see that from Blue’s perspective, that would have been the most romantic gesture ever. Even Ronan nods, impressed.

“When’s the date?” Helen shouts from across the room. Several people mutter in approval.

Both Gansey and Blue look at each other nervously.

“Well,” Gansey begins.

“We’re not sure if we are going to have a wedding.”

Several people boo. Adam notices that Henry is sitting behind Gansey and is smiling wickedly.

“Mother is going to kill you,” Helen warns loudly. A few people giggle. Adam notes that it is fortunate that there are no parents at this party.

“Mrs. Gansey will get over it,” Blue mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear. More people giggle and Helen raises an eyebrow.

“Look, we know you expect some over-the-top traditional Gansey family affair,” Gansey explains.

“Damn right,” says a man in a business suit. Adam thinks his name may be Tad or something equally obnoxious.

 “Well, we would rather just have a small scale, private ceremony,” Gansey continues

“And then ditch you losers for an extended honeymoon,” Blue finishes. Someone in the room cat calls, causing Blue to turn around and give that person the finger.

“Jesus Christ…” Helen mumbles, shaking her head.

“Look, we love you all,” Blue explains, “that’s why we decided to have this small engagement party. But neither of us are big wedding people. So we’ll sign some papers, go to South America, and call it a day. And you all can toast to our health and happiness from the comfort of your own homes without worrying about buying us gifts. It’s win/win!”

There are some mumbling throughout the crowd. Ronan and Adam share a look and a shrug.

“A toast then,” Henry calls out. “To the happy couple!”

Everyone raises their glasses to shouts of “Hear hear!” and “Congratulations!”

Adam sips his wine, Ronan sips his soda. Helen looks like she is having an aneurysm and chugs her entire glass in one gulp.

After the big announcement, food starts to appear on every surface. People begin to disperse and mingle, and Ronan gives Adam’s arm a squeeze.

“I guess that was a pretty obvious surprise,” he says, looking at Blue thoughtfully.

“Hindsight bias is always twenty/twenty,” Adam replies.

“Please, you’re just mad that you aren’t as clever as you think you are,” Ronan retorts.

“You’re just mad you didn’t figure it out.”

“Not mad. _Hangry_. I’m gonna grab us some food, okay?”

Adam nods as Ronan seeks out some plates. He feels something warm settle in his stomach as he watches Blue lean into Gansey and whisper something in his ear. Gansey naturally gravitates towards her, his hand snaking around her waist, his lips brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead. They are painfully sweet together. Adam regrets how much of a mess he and Blue were as a couple, but realizes he is truly happy she found Gansey in the end.

Then Henry suddenly appears next to the couple, wrapping his arms around both of them and pulling them into a three-way hug. They start chatting together, one of Henry’s hands brushing a strand of Blue’s hair from her face, the other resting in the curve of Gansey’s back. The three of them look strangely intimate, and Adam feels taken aback that he had no idea how close they both were with the enigmatic Henry Cheng. He acknowledges that Henry is, well, _loud_ for lack of a better word. But he is trying hard to see something negative about him, to understand why Ronan seems so annoyed by his very existence.

“I bet I can guess what you’re thinking,” a voice says from behind Adam, startling him. Noah is looming over his shoulder, hiding his shy smile behind his beer bottle.

“Go for it,” Adam challenges, trying to mask how much Noah’s sudden appearance had alarmed him.

“You’re wondering why Ronan hates Cheng so much.”

“Wow, that obvious?” Adam sighs.

“No. Not really.”

Adam looks at Noah curiously. There is something contradictory about him, but Adam can’t put his finger on it. Noah has such a boyish, innocent look to him. But the scar on his face, the strange way he confidently states what other people are thinking, it just doesn’t match. Noah doesn’t seem to even notice Adam is staring at him as he continues to watch Henry chat with Gansey and Blue.

“Ronan doesn’t actually hate Cheng,” Noah points out.

“Hm?”

Noah nods sagely.

“You see, Ronan hates everything Cheng reminds him of.”

“What does Cheng remind him of?” Adam asks.

“His father.”

Adam does a double take. It seems like an impossible comparison. He thinks back to that photo of Niall Lynch in Declan’s apartment. Niall looked like Ronan. Henry looks like… well, Henry.

“Don’t tell Henry I told you,” Noah says, finally turning to look at Adam, “But his mom and Ronan’s dad did business together. And not the legal kind.”

That takes Adam by surprise. Henry does not seem the type to have been born into the legacy of an underground smuggling ring. He seems more like inevitable result of nineties Disney movies and Kpop culture.

“Henry hates his mom’s business,” Noah continues. “I think he also hates his mom, but that’s another story. I’m going to tell you the story about how much Henry loved Niall Lynch.”

***

_Henry Cheng was born a half Chinese, half Korean, proud Canadian (if that makes sense). Technically, he was born in Seoul, Korea, but was relocated to Vancouver at too young of an age to really feel any Korean patriotism. Henry loved being Canadian, especially a first generation Asian Canadian, because there is really nothing more Canadian than being an immigrant. The same could be said about the USA, but Americans seem to be in denial that they are all mostly immigrants, especially if they are white and living in the Bible belt._

_Henry’s father was an engineer who wanted to save the world from global warming. His focus was always on weird little contraptions such as water purifiers that can remove plastics, electric engines, and sustainable farming practices. Henry’s mother was a housewife who, like most housewives, got bored quickly. Henry’s mother was also, unlike most housewives, terribly ambitious._

_Mrs. Cheng only became the black market queen after the family relocated to Canada. Henry’s grandparents blamed it on Canada’s very liberal views on women in the workforce. Henry’s dad blamed it on the fact that Mrs. Cheng was always too smart for her own good. Henry blames it on the fact he never had a brother or sister._

_Mrs. Cheng was no longer Mrs. Cheng when Henry was six years old. By then, she was Seondeok. By then, she knew when every shipment of opioid arrived and departed the west coast. By then, she had ordered the death of three men, had two guns hidden in her house, and had met Niall Lynch._

_Niall and Seondeok lived on opposite sides of the continent, so neither saw the other as direct competition. However, it became clear that it would be mutually beneficial to have some sort of business arrangement: Niall could never compete with Seondeok’s order and efficiency, and Seondeok could never match Niall’s wit and charm. They each had something to offer the other. Plus they both subscribed to the notion of keeping their enemies close._

_Seondeok was the more paranoid crime lord of the two. She refused to leave Canada, knowing that she would face much harsher criminal charges should she ever be arrested south of the border. Seondeok also did not like flying. Her halmeoni once predicted she would die dancing high in the sky (the original prophecy did not rhyme quite so nicely in Korean). It was probably more a metaphorical prediction, but Seondeok was not going to take any chances._

_Niall thought superstitions were a load of horseshit (that’s a direct quote). He also really loved Vancouver and thought Canada was a lot like Ireland (just with more hockey and less alcohol consumption). He was happy to make the trip, eat some sushi, smoke some chronic, and sign some contracts._

_These are the reasons why Henry Cheng knew Niall Lynch quite well, while Ronan Lynch knew Seondeok very little._

_The Cheng and Lynch households both agreed that their children should stay out of the businesses while they were children. Unfortunately, Declan Lynch stopped being a child at the tender age of twelve (more due to his personality than any legal definition of adulthood). Ten year old Henry met twelve year old Declan on a gloomy and wet winter day (which is every Vancouver winter day). Ten year old Henry thought twelve year old Declan was stuffy, snobby, and boring. Twelve year old Declan thought ten year old Henry could shove his collector edition’s Charizard Pokémon card where the sun don’t shine. They did not get along._

_Niall felt bad for Henry as he was an only child and didn’t seem to have the same social skills graced to boys with siblings. Henry was polite, but shy, awkward, nerdy, and quite frankly, weird. Niall adored Henry._

_So even though Declan was being a crotchety old man (that is to say, simply being Declan), Niall was happy to challenge Henry to a Pokébattle. Henry was happy to share his cards. Henry won five times out of six. Niall’s one win was because he somehow had snatched Henry’s Arcanine in the shuffle. Henry was not amused, but took the loss with the humility as was expected of him. Declan thought they both were idiots and watched CBC news over tea with Seondeok and Mr. Cheng._

_Niall, seeing that Declan was a bit too mature to play with Henry, next brought his middle son to Vancouver a couple of years later. Twelve year old Henry met twelve year old Ronan. Twelve year old Henry had a Playstation 2 and Metal Gear Solid 3. They bonded over their determination to complete the game over one sitting while their parents did business. They succeeded._

_Ronan may not ever know, but he was technically the first friend Henry had ever made._

_Henry Cheng, being polite, shy, awkward, nerdy, and very very weird, did not make friends easily in school. Mr. Cheng was certain he would grow out of it. Seondeok knew he wouldn’t. Henry was a very different person than his mother, but they were the same in one very crucial way: the both lived mostly inside their heads._

_It didn’t make Henry an introvert, but it made it hard for him to translate his thoughts into words. His accent didn’t help either._

_But it didn’t take language for Ronan and Henry to mutually understand that they had to beat a video game in under 15 hours. The concept of handing off the controller with every death was obvious. Yelling at each other when they were about to get ambushed was simply instinctual. Sharing a triumphant smile once the end credits of the game started rolling was the inevitable outcome._

_Henry’s surprise friendship with Ronan Lynch was honestly one of two reasons Seondeok sent him to Aglionby at the start of grade nine. The other was so that Niall would no longer have to fly north for business transactions._

_A sad truth we all realize once we are adults is this: high school is the destroyer of childhood friendships._

_When Henry started high school, he found himself living in a house with a bunch of Asian Canadians like himself. They were all awkward and weird. Henry had found his kingdom and became ruler._

_Ronan had long since belonged to a different kingdom and had his own king: Richard Campbell Gansey the Third._

_The first time Henry met Gansey, he felt a new emotion he didn’t fully understand for a long time: envy._

_Gansey was handsome and charming and intelligent. Henry was handsome and charming and intelligent too. But Gansey did not have any problems translating thought to words. Milk and honey rolled off his tongue, allowing peers, teachers, well quite frankly anyone, to just fall into the palm of his hands. It was effortless._

_When Henry was charming, it was because he had rehearsed what he was about to say in his head thirteen times. He often got hives just trying to figure out how to express himself without sounding like an idiot. It was not effortless. It would never be effortless._

_As much as Henry envied Gansey, he also desperately wanted to be Gansey’s friend. He had thought his friendship with Ronan would be an easy in. He was wrong._

_You see, Ronan had a big problem with the idea of Gansey and Henry being friends. Ronan’s problem wasn’t envy. It was jealousy._

_The difference between envy and jealousy is simple: envy is wanting what someone else has. Jealousy is the fear that someone will take what you already have away from you._

_Ronan didn’t want to share Gansey. But more importantly, Ronan feared that if Gansey knew how Henry and Ronan were acquainted, Gansey would want nothing to do with him anymore._

_Ronan may have loved his father more than air, but he did know that his father was not always on the right side of the law. Being best friends with a son of an aspiring senator could mean a lot of trouble for all involved parties. Ronan wanted to keep Gansey away from his darkness for as long as possible. Henry was part of that darkness and must be kept away as well._

_Henry had been hurt when Ronan pretended he didn’t know him at school. Henry had been destroyed when Ronan had begun being blatantly antagonistic to him by grade ten. Henry would not have survived if it weren’t for the Vancouver crowd. Eventually, Henry stopped trying so hard to be Ronan’s friend. That didn’t mean he stopped trying to be Gansey’s._

_Then Niall Lynch died horribly in his driveway. Ronan fell into a hole of despair and started immersing himself in a new kingdom: Kavinsky’s kingdom. With Ronan disappearing on binges for days at a time, Gansey was suddenly alone and in need of comfort. Henry knew an opportunity when he saw one._

_Henry and Gansey were a lot alike even though they were different. Their similarities and their differences complemented each other so perfectly, it was as if they had been friends since birth.  They fell into each other’s lives seamlessly, and found they could communicate just with a look or a nod. Henry no longer had to struggle trying to find the right words for his thoughts; Gansey just understood. Gansey finally felt like he didn’t have to hide any parts of himself, including his neuroses, when he was with Henry._

_Ronan became even more antagonistic towards Henry, his jealousy suddenly justified. He was too high and blinded by rage to see that Gansey wanted nothing more than to have the old Ronan back. He was too deep in darkness to see Henry had been helping Gansey help him._

_Ronan only learned during rehab that Henry had told Gansey about Niall’s trade and his past friendship with Ronan. He learned in rehab that Niall Lynch had left a gift for Henry in his will with a letter asking him to look out for Ronan. He learned that even though it was Noah who had found his body after he had slashed his wrists, and it was Gansey who had taken him to the hospital, that it had been Henry’s influence and connections that had gotten him into rehab instead of locked up in a psychiatric ward._

_Ronan was both resentful and grateful to Henry. The only way Ronan knew how to express his complicated feelings was to continue to be antagonistic to Henry, but begrudgingly accept that he now had a friendship with Gansey._

_What Ronan never knew was how much Henry missed Niall Lynch. Henry would never forget that Niall was the first adult to have ever listened to what he had to say. He was always so grateful that Niall thought his weirdness was the best part of him. He had attended Niall’s funeral, and had placed his Arcanine Pokémon card on the casket as his final farewell. He had bawled his eyes out when Niall had left him a silver tie pin of a bee, with a cheesy note telling him to “Always bee you.”_

_There were three reasons why Henry continued to put up with Ronan’s antagonism: the first was for Niall, as per his last will and testament. The second was for Gansey, who desperately wanted all his friends to get along, and who Henry could never disappoint. The third was for Ronan, because Ronan needed all the friends he could get, and Henry’s heart was too big to just let Ronan go._

***

Adam feels five times heavier after hearing Noah’s story. He glances at Henry again, in his bright clothing, speaking a mile per minute to Blue who is laughing into her hand while Gansey is smiling and shaking his head in amusement. Henry seems to be the complete opposite of dark and brooding Ronan. Yet somehow, he can imagine them as boys playing video games together, laughing and wrestling over the controller. Somehow, he can see Henry as a small, skinny boy, wanting nothing more than a friend, and being reassured by Niall Lynch’s charming smile.

“Life is strange,” Noah adds with a shrug. “I hope you like hummus.”

“Wait, what?”

Noah suddenly drifts away and as Adam turns to follow him, Ronan steps in front of him with a plate of food.

“This is ridiculous,” Ronan says, shoving the plate at Adam. “What happened to chicken wings and pizza?”

The plate is piled high with pita, vegetables, and what appears to be three different types of hummus.

“Is Gansey trying to lose weight?” Ronan grumbles, frowning at the plate. “Afraid to look too fat in his wedding dress? Or is Blue trying to go vegan again?”

“I hope not,” Adam says, popping a carrot into his mouth. “She gets so grumpy without cheese in her life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I wasn't planning on doing a Henry-centric chapter. I was initially just going to introduce him as a background character. But then I remembered that I am obsessed with Henry. And that this is a great opportunity to do a flashback-ish scene. Plus Noah knows everyone's secrets and obviously is gonna blab about it. And I love the idea of Niall just being completely enamoured by a tiny Henry (this is not the first time that concept has appeared in my fics). Finally, Ronan was such a turd to Henry in the original canon, I wanted to at least give him a reason for it in this fic. Did I mention I am obsessed with Henry and he is my spirit animal? I'm weak, okay! If an opportunity comes up to write Henry, it's going to happen. In fact, I should get a sticker for having abstained for the first 16 chapters. I hope you enjoyed it!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Mild explicit content. Mentions of Kavinsky and all that entails. Some pure fluff.  
> Unbeta'd

“Ronan.”

The voice is barely a whisper. Ronan is wrapped in sheets and his heavy duvet, nestled in a warm little cocoon on his bed. There is a gentle breeze coming from an open window, the perfect contrast caressing his cheeks.

He has been dreaming. He doesn’t remember of what. But he feels calm and cozy, so it couldn’t have been a bad dream. This time.

“Mmm, Ronan.”

That voice again. Like silk, softer than the sheets.

“I need you to get up, Ronan.”

The tickle of a breath against his shoulder, a shifting of weight. He doesn’t want to wake up. He is so pleasantly warm.

Lips touch his shoulder, a hand is skimming across his skin, over his chest.

“Come on,” the voice says, slightly louder, slightly more heated.

Ronan’s head tilts towards the voice. The fingers of the wandering hand are tapping out a song against his ribs.

“Ronan,” the voice sings, almost teasing. Ronan shifts onto his side, reaching out blindly, his own fingers finally finding warm skin entwined in sheets. His hands are greedy, grasping for the heat of the other body next to him. He pulls himself closer, feeling skin contact skin, feeling the quiver of silent laughter.

The warmth is exquisite, almost too hot to bare. He wiggles the duvet off him, wrapping strong arms around his bedmate, turning to lie once again on his back and pulling the other body onto his stomach to serve as a living, human blanket. The vibrations of laughter are pleasant against every inch of his skin.

“Hopeless,” the voice whispers. Ronan feels lips brush against his chest. The form on top of him moves, creating a trail of kisses across his pectorals, along his serratus, down his obliques. A part of Ronan’s brain acknowledges he’s watched Adam study anatomy so long that he knows the damn terms for all his muscles. That part of his brain is quickly silenced when he feels a tongue dart out across his bellybutton.

“Ronan,” the voice almost begs. Ronan still doesn’t want to open his eyes. Long, strong fingers are toying with the edge of his boxer briefs, while his own hands are reaching far down and caressing up the strong biceps of his partner.

“Do you want this?” the voice asks as a tongue licks the edge where the elastic band of his boxer briefs meet the jut of his hip.

Ronan nods his head, his mouth too full of cotton for words.

He feels a hot breath press against the fabric over his bulge, a tongue making the cotton moist against his sensitive skin.

“Use words, Ronan,” the voice commands as steely fingers start pushing down his underwear.

“Blow me,” Ronan gasps into the darkness behind his eyelids. He hears that precious deep laughter, the sweetest sound he has ever known. Sadly, it is a sound that is all too rare.

A finger taps his hip insistently, and Ronan lifts his ass off the bed so that his boxer briefs can be pulled down. They only make it halfway down his thighs before an eager mouth swallows the head of cock. More wet, pleasurable warmth enrobes Ronan, making it hard to breathe.

He can feel the other body hovering above his legs as his length is taken deeper into that glorious mouth. He is so tempted to open his eyes, to watch transfixed the up and down bobbing of the head of dust coloured hair. Ronan is obsessed with that colour. It’s too pale to be called brown, too muted to be called blonde. It sits on the edge of a honeyed grey mix with the rich colour of cardboard. He can’t even describe it properly to himself. He once tried to copy the colour with his paints, but couldn’t get it quite right. He was left with a sort of muddy grey that didn’t capture the richness or shine of Adam’s hair. If only he could bottle that colour, he’d sell it for millions.

Ronan’s chest shakes with his mirth as he realizes he is thinking about hair while in the middle of receiving head. Not that the head isn’t good, but now he wants to see it, that perfect colour that alludes him.

He cracks his eyes open, even though they are slightly crusted. He passes a hand over his face, rubs away the sleep and looks down his stomach.

Yes. That’s it. Shiny, messy strands. They glint silver and gold at the same time in the dimness of his room. How can hair seem to be blonde, brown, and grey all at once? Beautiful.

He needs to touch it. He knows how soft it will be. He reaches out, lets his fingers caress gently across the scalp. Adam hums at the touch, the sound coming deep from the back of his throat, creating wonderful sensations along Ronan’s shaft.

Ronan lets his head fall back on his pillow, lets his roaming fingers be his eyes: Adam’s hair is so soft and light, like the strands of a spider’s web. His fingers can’t find a single tangle to snag on and instead glide right through. By the way Adam is purring like a cat, he seems to be enjoying Ronan’s caress.

Ronan’s mind is still hazy from sleep. The only tautness in his body is his abdomen and what’s going on between his legs.

“Mousy brown,” Ronan mumbles. Adam pulls off suddenly, causing Ronan to look back down at him questioningly.

“What?” Adam asks, confused.

“The colour of your hair,” Ronan explains. “It’s mousy brown.”

Adam stares up at Ronan thoughtfully.

“Is that where that obnoxious nickname came from?”

Ronan blinks, trying to figure out what Adam is talking about.

_Oh._

“Who knows,” Ronan sighs, rubbing an errant strand between his thumb and pointer finger. “Who cares.”

Ronan’s hand release’s Adam’s hair. His finger trails down Adam’s forehead to the tip of his nose. He taps it once. It causes Adam to scrunch up his face.

Ronan smiles down at him. Adam smiles back, before swallowing him whole.

***

“I have a surprise for you,” Adam says lazily. Adam is a pleasant weight against Ronan’s chest in the bathtub. Ronan is massaging shampoo into his hair and Adam feels perfectly relaxed against him. Ronan wishes every week was spring break. He loves waking up to Adam still in bed with him. He loves being able to take their time worshipping each other. He adores these quiet moments together. Just being.

“I thought the blow job was my surprise,” Ronan teases. Adam smiles, but says nothing. There is an unspoken relief between the two. Things have been strained in the sex department since Ronan had an wholly embarrassing breakdown. But they are trying. Each providing small, physical gestures of affection for the other. He knows the healthy thing would be to talk about it. To lay it all out on the table and address this uncomfortable topic head on. “Get it over with fast, like a Band-Aid,” as his father would say. But they aren’t ready for that yet. They both know it could easily blow up in their faces. However, they are completely incapable of keeping their hands off each other. They need to constantly touch, as if to convince themselves the other is truly there, in the flesh.

Like in this moment, in their bathtub. There is nothing sexual about it. It’s just closeness. It’s knowing this isn’t a dream and having all of Adam Parrish pressed against him, letting Ronan wash his hair for him. It’s calm, quiet intimacy, novel and precious, and Ronan has never known how much he has wanted it until Adam has given it to him.

“Okay, what is it?” Ronan finally asks.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Ronan flicks water at Adam’s face for that cheeky answer. Adam just laughs.

“When do I get this surprise?” Ronan asks.

Adam gives Ronan a smug smirk over his shoulder, before sinking under the bath water to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

“Oh, come on!” Ronan pouts, but still pushes himself as far back in the tub to give Adam enough room. Adam emerges after a dozen seconds, wiping the soapy water from his eyes.

“This afternoon,” Adam answers, reaching for the conditioner.

“Oh, really?” Ronan asks surprised. Adam hands Ronan the bottle in answer. Ronan pours a dollop of the creamy concoction into his hand. He reaches up and starts combing his fingers through Adam’s hair again.

“Mmhmm.”

“And what has spurned this sequence of generous gestures?” Ronan asks, using unnecessarily big words because he knows Adam would find it funny. He’s staring at Adam’s back. At the lovely splash of freckles across his shoulders. Everything about Adam is just so elegantly made. He can’t help but lean down and kiss them.

“This has been planned for over a month,” Adam replies, sighing into Ronan’s touch. “The BJ was more impromptu.”

“Best wake up call I’ve ever had,” Ronan affirms.

“I guess I’ll have to find a way to one-up myself.”

“What is with you and impossible challenges?”

Adam turns in the tub, his smile wicked as he looks Ronan up and down, appraising.

“I think it would be in your best interest to shut up and let me try.”

Lust coils in Ronan’s belly. The blow job was pretty damn amazing. He can’t even fathom what Adam would have in store for him next.

“Fair point.”

***

Ronan realizes with unwavering certainty that he officially hates surprises.

He also realizes that he has not really had many surprises throughout his life. He never had a surprise birthday party. He never had come home to find a surprise pet waiting for him. He rarely has friends try to pop up and scare him (because his default response would have been a fist to the face).

All the surprises Ronan has ever had were very bad ones.

Surprise! There’s your father dead in the driveway.

Surprise! Your mom has gone catatonic.

Surprise! You can’t ever step into your childhood home again.

Surprise! K slipped something illicit into your cup and now you can’t remember the last twelve hours.

Ronan knows in his bones Adam wouldn’t give him a bad surprise. But Ronan’s bad luck makes him doubt everything.

He finds himself sitting exactly where Adam has instructed him to sit. It’s a reserved booth at a seafood restaurant he’s never been before. Adam’s instructions were simple:

_“Table is reserved under my name. Be there for 6pm. I’ll meet you in an hour.”_

Ronan’s response was naturally, “The fuck?” but it didn’t faze Adam for a second. He disappeared in his shit-mobile without another word.

Ronan looks at his watch. It’s 6:05pm. Adam is punctuality incarnate.

_What could be taking him…_

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He quickly fumbles for it, expecting an update from Adam but instead…

It’s a text from Declan. Ronan audibly growls at his phone, but quickly reads the message.

> _Best behaviour. Or else._

Ronan looks at his phone with disdain. What in the hell could Declan be harping about this time?

“Hey.”

Ronan looks up. There is Adam. _Finally._ He is smiling brightly from the other side of the table.

“You’re late,” Ronan points out.

“Not my fault. Flight was slightly delayed.”

“Flight?”

“My flight,” comes a third voice. A third voice Ronan knows as well as his own.

Matthew steps around Adam and slides into the booth next to Ronan. Ronan’s mouth falls open and he is unable to consciously close it.

“Adam says they have the best clam chowder here,” Matthew chirps happily. “But dad made a mean chowder, so it’s gonna be a hard sell.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” is Ronan’s eloquent response.

“Spring break. Duh.” Matthew says with a shrug. As if him, in Boston, with Ronan, _without Declan_ , is no big deal.

“But. Declan…” Ronan looks at Adam, who is still smiling smugly. Declan’s text suddenly makes sense. “How…”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Adam replies, taking the seat across from the Lynch brothers. “I’m starving. Pass the menu.”

***

Spending three days of spring break with Matthew without Declan breathing down his neck was heaven for Ronan.

They spent an entire day eating cold pizza, drinking beer, and playing videogames. There wasn’t a nagging big brother in sight. Just an Adam Parrish who spent a large chunk of time studying and a smaller chunk of time getting his ass kicked at Super Smash Bros.

They spent the second day out and about, taking Matthew to Ronan’s favourite fast food joints, then shopping, then Adam politely excused himself to work through some online quizzes while the Lynches went out for ice cream.

Adam is enjoying the quiet, being as productive a possible before the Lynches return to rope him into something probably ill-advised. He was, however, not expecting a knock at the door.

Slowly, he places his laptop on the floor next to open textbooks and a sea of notes, and make his way to the door. He opens it a crack, peeking at his uninvited guest.

“Gansey?” he says startled.

Adam throws open the door. Gansey is standing there, his wireframes balanced on his nose, bags of Chinese take-out in his hands.

“May I come in? I’ve brought dinner.”

Adam is a little taken aback, but he steps aside for Gansey.

Gansey makes his way to the kitchen. Adam watches Gansey take out plates and cutlery with such familiarity, but he then remembers that the apartment was Gansey’s home not too long ago. There’s just something unfair about the way Gansey looks so at ease wherever he may be.

“You like chow mein, right?” Gansey asks. Adam purses his lips. Truth be told, he can count on one hand the number of times he has eaten Chinese take out.

“Sure,” he says. He’s never had chow mein before.

“Orange beef?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Adam replies. Gansey nods and piles up their plates.

Adam takes a seat on the couch, amidst his notes. He quickly tries to tidy up, putting them in ordered piles, to make room for Gansey.

Gansey hands Adam the plate, and then shows him a fork and spoon in one hand, and chopsticks in the other.

Adam reaches for the proper American cutlery. He’s never touched chopsticks in his life.

Gansey plops down next to him, plate balanced on his lap. He uses the chopsticks like he has eaten with them since birth. Adam looks at his plate. There is something purple in a brown sauce. There are literal pieces of tentacles in the noodles.

Adam can only stare.

Gansey turns to Adam, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Do you not like Chinese?” he asks. He looks down at his own plate. “I guess I should have asked what you wanted before just deciding.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Adam says, and stabs something that looks breaded and shoves it into his mouth. It’s edible. Adam would prefer a hamburger.

“It feels like it’s been forever,” Gansey says, still staring at his plate. “Since we’ve just hung out. I’ve…I’ve missed you.”

Adam gently lowers his fork to his plate.

“Sorry. Life just kinda got in the way,” Adam replies.

“Yeah,” Gansey agrees solemnly. He looks at Adam. He has the saddest smile Adam has ever seen.

“What’s with that look,” Adam chastises. “You just got engaged. You should be happy.”

“I am happy,” Gansey says. Adam knows there’s more to it than that. Everything about this impromptu visit is suspicious. He waits for the hat to drop in silence.

“I’m also terrified,” Gansey finally adds.

“That’s to be expected.”

“Is it?” Gansey puts his plate on the floor so he can turn and face Adam on the couch.

“I’m always terrified,” Adam admits with a shrug. “And I’m not even marrying Blue.”

“Says the guy dating Ronan Lynch,” Gansey retorts.

“Yeah. How the hell did that happen?”

Gansey smiles at him. “I’m not complaining. You’re the best thing that could have happened to him. I almost wish I thought of setting you two up myself.”

Adam snorts.

“Don’t believe me?” Gansey asks in awe. “I’ve been working on Declan for years to loosen his leash. You show up, bat your pretty eyelashes, and now Ronan gets to spend spring break alone with Matthew. You’re a miracle worker, Adam Parrish.”

“That’s hardly a miracle.”

“It is for Ronan.”

Gansey is right. Adam hasn’t ever seen Ronan smile as much as he has over the last 48 hours.

“I was worried,” Gansey says slowly, almost as if he is concerned he is overstepping. “Ronan has always been…difficult.”

“What exactly were you worried about?”

“If he’d find anyone.”

Adam sighs. “You already gave me this talk.” And he really doesn’t need to be told to avoid breaking Ronan’s heart. It’s the last thing he would ever want to do.

Gansey starts kneading his lip with his thumb. “No. I haven’t.”

“No? Then what is this about?”

Gansey sighs. He’s stalling, staring at Adam so apologetically.

“Spit it out,” Adam commands.

“Kavinsky.”

It’s the one word Adam wishes he never had to hear again.

“Why? Why do we have to talk about him? What reason could there be-”

“Kavinsky called me,” Gansey interrupts, his brow in a scowl. Adam freezes.

“Why?”

“Because Ronan changed his number and he was not happy about it.”

“Why does he even have _your_ number?” Adam asks. His fingers are restless, clenching and unclenching on his thigh.

“We went to high school together. I’m easily traceable.”

“So he called you to get Ronan’s new cell?”

“That. And to give me warning.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about that wannabe gangster piece of shit.”

“I am,” Gansey says seriously.

“Why? He’s all bark.”

“He’s not.”

“Of course he is.”

“Adam, you need to listen to me,” Gansey orders sternly, and Adam notices something dangerous flash in his eyes. Adam’s lips slam shut. He watches Gansey, watches the worry age his face by ten years.

“I hate Joseph as much as you do. For everything he has done to Ronan. I hate him so much, I once tried to put him behind bars. For selling drugs. His family had the D.A. in their pocket from day one. I once tried to lock him up for rape. You think Ronan is the first person he has roofied? I had managed to get three victims to testify against him. All of them suddenly retracted their statements two days before the trial. I even tried to get a restraining order against him after he tried to lure Ronan out of rehab. That almost got _me_ arrested.”

Adam takes all this information in horrified silence.

“He’s a gangster and a lowlife. We all know that,” Gansey continues. “But Joseph Kavinsky is not an idiot. He has enough dirty money to buy off whoever he wants. He can play the system better than I can.”

“And you have enough connections to get to the moon,” Adam finishes for him. Gansey nods.

“So when Joseph Kavinsky calls me and says he’s going to, and I quote, ‘Choke the cum out of Lynch’s new fleshlight,’ one has to worry at what that means.”

Adam almost chokes on hearing those words come out of Gansey’s mouth, and the irony is not lost on him.

“Jesus Christ,” Adam gasps.

“Indeed.”

Adam ponders the implications.

“So what? Are you saying he’s going to come after me?” Adam asks. His face is blank, but his heart is thudding fast.

“I don’t know. Joseph has always been a bit…dramatic.”

“Ugh. Why?” Adam groans, gripping his hair between his fingers. “Why?” he growls into the darkness pressing against his eyeballs. “Why?” he whispers in prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in, not that he has ever deigned to answer Adam before.

_Why me? Why can’t I just be left alone? Why can’t I just be happy?_

Gansey touches his hand and gently pulls Adam’s arms away from his head.

“Doesn’t matter,’ Gansey says soothingly. “You’ll survive this.”

“I don’t want to survive anymore. All I do is freaking survive. I just want to live.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No. It’s not. It’s really not.”

Gansey looks at Adam questioningly. What does Gansey know of surviving? The golden boy with the world at his feet has lived well every day, but he has never had to _survive._

“I’m sorry, Adam.”

Adam drops his arms, stares at the prominent veins in the back of his hands. Wonders idly for a moment what Ronan likes so much about them.

“Let me help,” Gansey says. Adam’s eyes dart to Gansey’s face. Gansey seems cautious, but presses on. “Please, let me help.”

“How can you help?” Adam asks, defeated. “A psychopathic junkie rapist who is obsessed with my boyfriend has a personal vendetta against me. Tell me how you can possibly help?”

Adam knows his tone is harsher than it should be. He knows he is unfairly directing his anger and helplessness towards his best friend. But Gansey’s naïve enthusiasm is not what Adam needs right now.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Gansey adds. “I know a guy. Well, Henry knows a guy. Well, technically, Henry’s mom knows a guy.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He can watch out for you.”

“Are you actually suggesting a body guard?” Adam asks aghast.

“No. Well, sorta.” Gansey chews his lip. In the back of Adam’s mind, he knows Gansey is walking on eggshells, trying hard no to offend him. He isn’t succeeding.

“Look, I am not letting you hire me a body guard because Ronan’s ex-whatever is being a jealous turd.”

“He’s dangerous,” Gansey warns.

“Yeah. I know. So am I,” Adam replies darkly.

Gansey blinks at that answer.

“You think I’ve never had to deal with irrational bullies?” Adam asks rhetorically. Gansey winces. Adam isn’t naïve enough to think Blue hasn’t told Gansey everything about his father. They’re the kind of couple without secrets. Unlike him and Ronan…

“I can watch out for myself,” he says with a sigh. Gansey doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll be careful.”

“Promise you’ll call me. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it’s just a shadow in a funny shape, or a cat making sounds in an alleyway. Anything suspicious, just promise you’ll call me,” Gansey begs. Adam almost laughs at him. “You know you can, right? You can call me for anything.”

“I know,” Adam says, patting Gansey on the knee like he would to comfort a child. Gansey gives Adam an unamused look. “I know,” Adam says more sincerely.

That seems to appease Gansey, who nods, and reaches back down for his plate. He pokes his food with his chopsticks, but doesn’t seem to want to eat anymore. Adam sighs.

“Is there something else?”

Gansey frowns at his food. Without looking at Adam, he says in a steady and almost robotic tone, “I think I’m going to have a panic attack.”

“What? Why?” Adam scrambles to his feet in alarm, reaching for his glass of water on the coffee table to offer it to Gansey.

“I’m engaged,” Gansey whispers. He lifts his head to look at Adam with wide, horrified eyes. “My parents are going to kill me. Or worse, disown me.”

Adam almost dumps the water on Gansey’s head. He feels a bubble of laughter in the back of his throat but pushes it down. He realizes then that Gansey came here seeking comfort as much as he came to offer it. It’s a reminder that the golden boy has insecurities, just like everyone else. Adam also realizes that it’s Gansey’s flaws that make him so endearing and that he has missed him terribly. He silently vows to be a better friend to Gansey, to make more time for him, as he grabs Gansey’s shoulder and squeezes tight.

“You’re on your own there, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do this chapter for a few reasons:  
> I wanted to show how Adam and Ronan are slowly getting around their issues (even if they aren't addressing them head on), and that they are still happy and totally sappy-love-sick puppies despite it.  
> Also, I wanted more Gansey. I love Gansey. He's so earnest and tries so hard. Bless his precious soul.  
> Finally, Kavinsky was never going to just roll over and disappear because Adam snapped at him. Oh no no no. Kavinsky is far from giving Ronan up...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Kavinsky. Kavinsky being an evil twat. Kavinsky doing terrible things. Drug use, violence, hostages. Like, it's Kavinsky, people! You have been warned.  
> Unbeta'd

The third day with Matthew feels the shortest. Partially because Ronan will have to take him to the airport at the crack of dawn the following morning, and partially because there is too much to do. Boston is a hub of culture. There are museums and universities and galleries. But Matthew wants one thing.

Adam can’t fathom how much money Ronan dropped to get Bruins tickets, but he did. And better yet, their playing their rivals, the Montreal Canadiens. Matthew couldn’t be luckier or more pleased.

What surprises Adam even more is that there is a third ticket with his name on it. When Ronan holds it out to him, he bites his lip in contemplation. It seems a bit much to accept. It also seems intrusive, to crash this last night the brothers have together. What makes Adam change his mind is when Matthew wraps a thickly muscled arm around Adam’s shoulders, flashes a smile brighter than the sun and asks, “Did you play hockey?”

The answer to the question is a firm no; Adam has never even been skating before. Winters in his home town were not particularly cold enough to justify such sports. Plus things like skates and hockey equipment were luxuries Adam could have never afforded.

Matthew forgives Adam easily enough for not being a winter athlete. He isn’t as easily able to forgive Adam for not having a clue about the rules of hockey.

“Ro, how could you have left him suffering like this for so long?” Matthew asks in awe as the get out of the car in the stadium’s underground parking lot.

“I’m fine,” Adam replies with a roll of his eyes.

“Nobody is fine not knowing the definition of a ‘hat trick’,” Matthew points out.

Ronan slams the driver door shut and looks seriously at Adam over the hood of his car.

“Fine,” Adam sighs. “What’s a ‘hat trick’?”

Having little knowledge or care for hockey did not in any way deter Adam from getting swept up in the excitement of the crowd. The energy is infectious. Everything is loud. The scent of sweat and beer hangs heavily in the air. Adam finds himself on more than one occasion gripping his seat and leaning forward, trying to follow the tiny black dot on the ice. When the Bruins score their first goal, he is on his feet, arms in the air, cheering as loud as anyone else. When a fight breaks out on the ice, he flinches at the sight of a particularly brutal right hook that knocks a player onto his ass, and laughs when the player gets up and keeps playing as if nothing has happened.

“When’s halftime?” Adam asks, feeling a pressure on his bladder. Ronan snickers and Matthew rolls his eyes.

“Three periods, Parrish,” Ronan explains. “Twenty minutes each. Buzzer will go off in a few.”

Adam nods and sits back, watches another impressive save by the rival team’s goalie, and then the sweet siren goes off.

The whole arena seems to come alive. Or maybe fall to sleep. The energy dissipates and the spell breaks. Ronan stands and stretches, his arms reaching high over his head.

“Yo, I want some food,” Matthew says.

“You’re a big boy, go get some yourself,” Ronan tells him.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted anything, but if you’re going to be a dick about it…”

Matthew turns to leave.

“Get me a coke, smartass,” Ronan calls after him. “You want anything?” he asks Adam. Adam shakes his head and moves to follow Matthew out of the arena.

“Washroom,” Adam explains over his shoulder as Ronan stares questionably after him.

The crowd is thick and the first washroom Adam stumbles upon has a long line of impatient bodies. Accepting his fate, Adam leans against the wall, watching the many different people walk past him. There are lots of families here together, mothers and fathers with their children. There are groups of friends. There are coworkers. There are people coexisting, sharing a passion.

_So this is what normal people do for fun._

Adam is almost taken aback by his own thoughts. He hates the truth behind it: Adam never got to do leisure activities. The thought of Adam’s father taking him to a hockey game, well, any sports game is laughable. He thinks Robert Parrish may have debased himself to play ball with Adam once when he was six or seven. It may have ended with Adam being kicked in the head and being called a sissy for not possessing a naturally talented curve ball, but what did he expect?

Being with Ronan and Matthew, doing something brothers _should_ do together, watching their teasing and tussling and smiling reminds Adam of something important that he tends to forget.

_It’s not your fault._

It is not Adam’s fault that he doesn’t know the rules to hockey. It is not Adam’s fault that his definition of “quality family time” is watching the Price is Right, where dad is buzzed (only two beers in, not yet angry-drunk), and mom is chain-smoking in the tiny kitchen of the double wide, mumbling her guesses for the price of that Kitchen-Aid mixer.

It is not Adam’s fault that he feels that just being able to enjoy himself with his boyfriend and his little brother is something he has managed to steal or manipulate away and now he is in some kind of debt to them or should feel ashamed for taking their charity.

Adam knows that’s not how this works. He knows Ronan does nice things for him and includes him simply because Ronan enjoys his company. There is no ulterior motive or keeping track of who owes whom. He _knows_ this. He is just having trouble _accepting_ this. Adam’s fear is that it will never be easy to just _accept_ kindness from people, given freely to him just because they love him.

Adam’s phone buzzes as he finally gets to the urinal. It’s a single buzz, so just a text. He only pulls the phone from his pocket once he has relieved himself and washed his hands. He is surprised to see the text is from Matthew.

>> _I’m lost. At gate 3. Come get me?_

_Wait, seriously?_

Matthew may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but it takes a bit of talent to get lost in a giant oval. Perhaps the crowd is overwhelming him. Perhaps he’s pulling Adam’s leg.

Adam quickly types a message back.

>> _KK, on my way._

Adam follows the signs around the outer ring of the stadium, passing concessions and more bathrooms, and too many people to count starting to head back to their seats.

Gate 3 is farther than he thought, and it takes him several minutes to get there. The crowds are thinning, and Adam is worried they are going to miss the next puck drop (or whatever they call it). He sees the sign for his destination and feels his phone vibrate again.

This time it’s Ronan

>> _You taking a dump? Hurry up._

Adam rolls his eyes. He gets to the gate. It leads to one end of the parking lot, which is pretty deserted as there are still two periods left in the game. There is no Matthew in sight.

Adam purses his lips and takes out his phone.

>> _I’m here. Where are you?_

He waits only seconds before he gets a reply.

>> _Near the pillar marked 3Y_

Adam frowns. Why would Matthew leave the stadium? Something doesn’t feel right.

He remembers Gansey’s warning, or more like plea.

_“Anything suspicious, just promise you’ll call me”_

Adam doesn’t. Because this is just silly. Matthew is probably just pranking him.

He steps through the gate, into the parking lot. The pillars are alphabetized, making 3Y easy to find.

Still no Matthew.

Adam’s unease is now full-blown concern. His internal instincts are screaming at him. There is not a single soul in sight. The gate leading back inside is barely visible. Matthew isn’t here.

Adam pulls his phone out, internally debating if he should call Ronan, Matthew, or Gansey first, when someone taps on his shoulder.

He turns quickly, too quickly.

“Hello, mouse.”

Bile raises in the back of Adam’s throat. Kavinsky is holding Matthew’s phone in front of his face, waving like a prize.

“Look what I found. I wonder if someone misplaced it?”

Kavinsky’s smile is too wide. His skin is so pale. His eyes are hidden behind large white-rimmed sunglasses.

“Where is he?” Adam asks. He tries to go back to that place of calm, where he can wear a silent mask and keep his voice steady.

“Trade? One little Lynch for the phone in your hand.”

“Where is he?” Adam’s voice is angry. He hates that even a smidge of his emotions can be heard in it.

“I said trade,” Kavinsky sings back, his smile widening.

Adam and Kavinsky have a stare off, Kavinsky seeming to have all the time in the world to play this little game. Adam’s phone buzzes impatiently in his hand.

“Where is he?” Adam’s voice is almost a whisper, trying to subdue his fear and rage. He doesn’t look down at his phone to see who sent the latest message. He doesn’t need to.

Kavinsky reaches out slowly, hand drawing deliberately towards Adam. His long, boney fingers reach for Adam’s phone. When he sees Adam does not pull away, he gently plucks the phone from Adam’s hand. Adam lets him because he knows it’s the only way to get to Matthew.

K looks at the screen, his eyebrows popping up above his Ray-bans.

“Lover boy is growing impatient. Too bad.”

Kavinsky pockets Adam’s phone.

“Follow.”

Kavinsky turns and starts heading deeper into the lot. Adam follows silently. Instead of screaming, tremoring, crying, he digs his nails into his palm. Kavinsky stops in front of his white Mitsubishi. Adam approaches the car, looks into the back seat. He sees Matthew's form lying there, his head pillowed on his arm.

“Matthew,” Adam gasps and knocks loudly on the window. The younger Lynch brother doesn’t move.

“What did you do to him?” Adam snarls. The emotions are coming loose, he can’t hold the cold façade any longer.

“I might have watched too much Dexter as a kid. Horse tranquilizer is a bit hard to come by. But for the right price,” Kavinsky shrugs.

“You drugged him?” Adam gasps, turning on Kavinsky. But there isn’t a response. Only a fist, slamming into the side of his head, knocking into the car.

“Ugh, yes,” Kavinsky moans, then kisses the fist he just socked Adam with. “Sorry, bro. I’ve just wanted to do that for _ages._ ”

Adam shakes his head. He counts his blessing Kavinsky’s right hook is pretty weak. Or maybe he’s just used to the insane force of Robert Parrish’s hits.

“So here’s the deal, kiddo,” Kavinsky says. There’s a sheen of sweat on his pale grey skin that makes him look almost translucent in the dim parking lot. “We’re going for a ride.”

“The hell we are,” Adam growls. He claws at the door of Kavinsky’s car, but it’s locked.

“Matthew!” he yells, slamming his palms against the window, rattling the entire frame. Matthew is out cold.

“Did you not hear the part where I said _horse tranquilizer_?” Kavinsky asks, shaking his head. Adam ignores him. He keeps yelling for Matthew, banging on the car, hoping maybe someone else will hear them, come investigate, call the cops, _anything_.

Kavinsky slams Adam’s head against the car’s window and holds it there, his fingers knotted in Adam’s hair. There is something cold being pressed under Adam’s chin. He can barely see the dark metal of it, but he suspects it may be a gun.

“Enough of that, mouse,” he hisses into Adam’s ear. “Now be a good boy and get in. You’re driving”

***

Adam tries to think of a million ways to get them out of the car, out of Kavinsky’s grasp. He thought of trying to fight K one-on-one. But K kept the gun trained on Adam the entire time. He thought of swerving the car right off the road, but the risk of hurting Matthew in the back seat was too high. He thought maybe driving through a few red lights might get the attention of the police, but by the time they pull him over, he or Matthew may be ridden with bullet holes.

All Adam can do is follow Kavinsky’s oral directions. He tries to piece together where they are going, but he is heading to an unfamiliar suburb of Boston, with large, ancient houses. He tells Adam to park the car in front of a multicolour house. Red, yellow, pink, the colours are so friendly and welcoming. What a terrible lie.

“Out now,’ Kavinsky orders, one palm open and waiting for his keys, the other keeping steady aim of the gun at Adam’s face.

Adam pulls the keys from the ignition, drops them into K’s waiting hand and steps out of the car. He considers making a run for it. There are plenty of trees and bushes to dive behind. He can’t leave Matthew. Not with that psychopath.

Kavinsky slams the passenger door, stretches idly, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“I hope you’ve been working out,” Kavinsky says lazily. “Because you’re carrying the kid.”

Adam stares at Kavinsky silently, swallows, and moves to open the rear car door. Matthew hasn’t twitched once since Adam laid eyes on him. Kavinsky comes around the car to watch, but not help. Adam reaches into the back seat. The first thing he does it takes Matthew’s pulse. It’s slow but steady. He’s alive at least. Adam quickly lifts his lids, checks his pupils. He taps Matthew’s cheek, but is unsurprised when he doesn’t react. As he turned Matthew’s head, he notices that some of the blonde curls are matted to the side of his face. There’s blood.

“Shit,” Adam gasps, and quickly tries to push the bloody hair aside to see the wound. He knows head wounds often look worse than they are. His fingers feel a bump, he sees a break in the skin. But the skull doesn’t seem fractured.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Kavinsky snaps.

“He has a head wound,” Adam snaps back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, because he’s got fifty pounds on me and decided to fall the wrong way. Now move!”

Adam closes his eyes in frustration, but begins to pull Matthew out of the car. He knows the only way he’ll get the larger man anywhere is with a fireman’s carry, and uses the back seat as leverage to slowly slide Matthew over his shoulder.

Adam struggles getting to his feet with Matthew’s weight, and glances sideways to see Kavinsky looking on with an amused smile.

_Fucking asshole._

Once Adam finally has Matthew balanced over his back, Kavinsky leads them to the front door of the house. Adam is sweating, his legs feeling like they will give out from Matthew’s weight and Adam’s fear.

Kavinsky unlocks the door and holds it open for them.

The home is…well a home. It’s furnished and domestic and it confuses Adam enormously. He was expecting the despair of a crack house or something run down, not a comfortable, large three story that would be any family’s dream home.

 _The drug business pays well_ , Adam thinks sardonically.

Once Adam steps inside, Kavinsky quickly locks the door and leads them through the first door on the right. Adam finds himself stepping into a dusty garage or storage room.

“You can drop the big guy anywhere,” Kavinsky says, using the gun to point to some open space on the ground.

Adam tries to gently put Matthew down, but it is difficult to roll his large frame from his shoulder delicately. When Adam stands again, he feels weak, out of breath, the sweat on him now colder than ever.

“Tie him up,” Kavinsky orders.

“What?”

“Tie. Him. Up. Gag too. Don’t want the big man coming to and freaking out on me.”

Adam stares at Kavinsky. Kavinsky rolls his eyes and points the gun back at Adam’s face.

“Don’t make me say please.”

“Why are you doing this?” Adam asks.

“There’s some rags you can use in that bucket over there. Chop chop.”

Again, the rage boils in Adam’s blood. He has to bite down hard on his tongue before he says something he regrets. He takes the rags, ties Matthew’s feet together, then his hands behind his back. Then he takes the cleanest rag he can find to use as a gag. Once he is done, Kavinsky walks over to inspect his handiwork.

“God, did no one teach you how to tie knots? That’s like boy scouts one-oh-one you learn when you are eight.”

“I never was a boy scout,” Adam retorts.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Kavinsky nudges Matthew with his foot, who is still completely unconscious. He nods and then actually sits on Matthew’s back like he is a piece of furniture. He rests the gun on his lap while he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it up, takes a long inhale and looks at Adam from above his stupid sunglasses.

“I have a little present for you.”

Adam swallows. He knows what’s next can’t be good. He wishes he had called Gansey. He wonders if Ronan is starting to panic. He regrets not being brave enough to tackle Kavinsky and try to wrestle the gun from his hands.

“It’s in that box over there.” Kavinsky uses the gun to point to a plastic Sesame Street lunchbox, sitting on a small crooked bookshelf. Adam takes the box and turns back to Kavinsky.

“Have a seat and open it.”

There really isn’t anywhere to sit except the cement floor. Adam settles himself against the far fall, facing K, facing Matthew, puts the lunchbox on his lap, and opens it.

“Happy birthday!” K says around an exhale of smoke.

Adam has never held such a thing before, but he knows what it is. Cotton balls. Syringes. Small squares of aluminum foil. A large spoon. A small vile of water. A small plastic bag of a white powder. A cheap, dollar store lighter. A piece of stretchable rubber tubing. One of the syringes is already full of a clear amber liquid.

“I don’t understand,” Adam whispers, staring down at the drug kit.

“What’s there to understand? I even already prepared a hit for you.”

“Why?” Adam asks. It’s a fair question. Kavinsky is literally just sitting there, offering Adam hard drugs like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. Expecting Adam to just shoot up, as if such a thing was Adam’s regular pass-time.

“You’re supposed to be smart. You tell me.”

Adam does what he does best. He starts to think. He ponders what game Kavinsky is playing. Why kidnap Matthew? Why try to get Adam high? Where does Ronan, whom Kavinsky really wants, come into this?

“You want to disgrace me,” Adam whispers.

“That’s right. You can’t get a medical license if you’re a junkie.”

“I’m not a junkie.”

Kavinsky laughs. It’s a cackle that is both harsh and haunting.

“A video of you shooting yourself up with heroin will say otherwise.”

_No._

“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” Adam hisses.

“Mouse, if you haven’t noticed, I have gun and Lynch junior.”

To emphasize the point, he flicks his unfinished cigarette away and slaps Matthew’s ass, hard, the sound like a gunshot. Adam stares daggers at Kavinsky, twirling his pistol like he’s some character from the wild west. K then looks down a Matthew’s face, gagged, bruised, unmoving: Kavinsky’s personal couch.

“Funny thing about heroin,” Kavinsky says, using a long pale finger to stroke his 9mm more sensually than necessary, “is that they say even the first hit leads to addiction. Personally, I stay away from the stuff. Lynch tried it once. Had to binge on meth for a week just to stop himself from trying it again.”

Adam’s stomach rolls with nausea. He doesn’t understand how Kavinsky can just flaunt Ronan’s suffering like he’s talking about the weather.

“That stuff right there, it’s clean. It’s not cut with anything. Scout’s honour. Cost a fortune, I’ll have you know. So you shouldn’t O.D. Probably.” Kavinsky points the gun at Matthew’s head, his eyes never leaving Adam.

“Time to take a ride, Parrish.”

Adam stares at Kavinsky, the gun, Matthew’s vulnerable form.

“Pick up the tourniquet,” Kavinsky orders.

Adam’s shaking hand reaches for the rubber tubing within the box.

“Good boy.”

Kavinsky reaches into his jean pocket and pulls out Matthew’s cellphone. His thumb flicks across the screen, and then he holds it up in front of him. The gun in his other hand doesn’t waver and inch.

“Smile pretty for the camera,” he taunts.

Adam scowls, his fingers fumbling as he wraps the rubber around his bicep, trying for a knot one-handed.

“It’s going to need to be tighter than that. I thought you were in med school, haven’t you done this before?”

Adam grits his teeth, but ignores Kavinsky.

“No wonder our medical system is failing,” Kavinsky huffs. “You do know how to find a vein, right?”

Adam refuses to answer Kavinsky’s jeers. Instead, he stares down the filled syringe, the cold plastic, the capped needle, the liquid in the syringe glinting golden brown. His brain can’t help but pray that the needle isn’t used.

Adam hates his body for being able to reach for it, uncap it, turn the syringe in his fingers. They’re still trembling. His brain is screaming, _Stop. Don’t. No._

His eyes find their way back to Matthew. Blessedly unaware. His face achingly similar to Ronan’s, just softer, rounder. Angelic.

_For you. I’ll do this for you._

Adam has never hated anyone in his life the way he hates Kavinsky in that moment. Because he understands Kavinsky in that moment. What he is trying to do is as clear as day.

This is more than just destroying Adam; ruining his life, career, reputation, and everything else he’s accomplished through blood, sweat, and tears. No. This is about showing Adam the darkest depths of Ronan. Showing him that he could never handle it. Showing him that he could never understand Ronan like K can. Like K _has_. Reminding him that Ronan comes from a world that could only haunt Adam’s nightmares.

Adam is no stranger to nightmares. Adam has already survived many nightmares and pain and neglect. What is one more nightmare if he can protect Ronan’s little brother?

Adam forms a fist, stares into the bend of his elbow. He has always had large veins, prominent on his thin, sinewy arms. He can see it easily, bulging and waiting to bring about his demise.

 _Bottom’s up_ , he thinks sarcastically, and plunges the sharp end into his vein. It’s a small pinch, and he pulls the plunger back to aspirate. He sees the crimson swirl of his blood flush into the tube, so he shoves the plunger back down, pushing the gold liquid in, contaminating himself.

The last thing his clear mind processes is Kavinsky, his shoulders shaking with triumphant laughter. He’s all teeth and crooked nose and white Ray-bans. That is until he blurs. That is until the rush hits and suddenly up is down and Kavinsky is a smeared tapestry of watercolours. Adam has fallen over onto his back, staring up at the blankness of the ceiling and seeing every star in the universe. Molten lava scorches his veins, numbing him. Pleasure. Pain. Nausea. More pleasure. The aurora borealis presses him down into the cold floor. The cold is comfort. It makes the tingling numbness louder.

_Ronan._

Pleasure. Nausea.

Adam is aware enough to force his body to lie onto its side. The Bacchus position. In case he vomits. He just might because merely turning over spins the entire world on it’s axis. And when he finally stops moving, it’s still spinning.

_Ronan._

He’s losing it. Cohesive thought is slipping away. His skin is too tight. The hard floor is suddenly a non-Newtonian fluid, sucking him down like quicksand. Kavinsky’s laughter is a sonata floating to him from another planet. He closes his eyes and counts the atoms within a single skin cell, spinning erratically in their quantum planes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's my little twist on Kavinsky's kidnapping from TDT. I actually did research on heroin for it. If anyone ever checks my browser history, it's gonna get awkward real fast.  
> Yes, it's twisted and cruel. I know. I'm awful. But K is smart enough to go after what is most important to his enemies. If Ronan and Adam had been dating during the events of TDT, I'm sure K would have done something equally horrible to Adam instead (or in addition) to kidnapping Matthew.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Violence. Kavinsky. Elements of non-con (I promise there is no explicit rape in this chapter)  
> Unbeta'd

** Now **

Everything is cold. The sweat drying on his skin. The hard press of the floor against his back. The brick in his stomach making him gag.

Adam can’t hold it down any longer and finds himself dry heaving, his cheek pressing hard into the rough concrete beneath him. He can only manage to hack up a dribble of spittle that trickles over his lip and pools beneath his chin and cheek.

He feels like he’s drowning. Everything seems so heavy. There is fortunately little light. He fears any light would be agonizing to his eyeballs.

“Adam?”

The voice is hushed, scared, and coming from behind him. It takes so much effort to push himself onto his knees. He doesn’t try to get to his feet, not with the dizziness and the heaviness and the cold.

Adam drags his hands and knees across the rough floor to turn himself away from the wall to face the rest of the room.

_Where am I?_

The thought sears into the back of his skull. He collapses then, the cold too much for his body to sustain without shivering, He balls himself up tight in an attempt to keep the warmth in. His teeth are chattering. He wants to vomit again but that would take too much effort.

“Adam.”

_Oh right, the voice._

Adam opens his eyes, tries to assess his surroundings. The room is barely furnished. There’s some shelving. The ground is cement. The walls are cement and plaster. There is a single door leading out of the room. There are some cardboard packing boxes. Some cans of paint. And near his feet, a Sesame Street lunch box.

Oh, and another human being lying on the floor facing him. He knows this person too.

“Matthew?”

His voice is the scraping of metal on brick, rough and dry and it is painful to talk. The sound of his own speech rebounds viciously against his eardrums.

It is indeed Matthew, mirroring Adam’s fetal position. Except Matthew has his feet and hands tied; a gag is pushed down just below his lips.

 _I guess I didn’t tie it tight enough_ , Adam thinks. His brain takes a moment to process the thought because he can’t remember _why_ he would tie Matthew up.

However, Adam’s brain is a powerful tool. In a heartbeat, he is provided a vision of a gun, of white Ray-bans, of a cruel smile under a crooked nose. Everything comes flooding back. Especially that damn Sesame Street lunch box.

_What have I done???_

Adam looks to the inner crux of his left elbow. He can see the bruise forming there already. He is definitely going to vomit again.

He gags and hacks against the floor, this time actually heaving up some yellow bile. He can’t help the tears that roll down his cheeks from the effort.

_The camera._

A choked sob forced its way out of Adam’s painful throat. The tears are no longer a symptom of his gagging. He remembers everything.

_No no no no no no._

Adam grips his shirt above his heart pulling in on himself as his world crumbles around him. At that very moment, Jospeh Kavinsky could be sharing a very incriminating video with Harvard’s administration that will ruin Adam’s life.

_But Matthew is okay. Look at him._

Adam does. He forces himself to. Matthew is terrified. He can see that now. Those bright blue eyes are bloodshot and staring at him in anguish. His normally glossy blond curls look deflated and mute, with a chunk of them sticking to his head with dried blood.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam chokes, the tears still streaming down his face. His body has decided it wants to have a break down and Adam can’t stop it, but he can still speak. “Matthew, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Adam is so helpless and weak. He feels sick and his life is about to end. All he can do is apologize to the sweet boy who shouldn’t have been involved.

_I should have listened to Gansey. I should have been more careful._

Adam could spend the rest of eternity listing what he should have done. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

 _Matthew matters,_ his brain reminds him. He wishes it would shut up. He just wants to wallow in self-pity for a change.

_You need to get out of here._

He knows his brain is right. They are both still in real danger.

Adam wipes the tears and the snot off his face. He lifts himself back to his knees to crawl over to Matthew’s body. He stumbles a couple of times, collapsing onto his forearm, but he pushes himself back up.

“What’s going on?” Matthew asks Adam desperately, struggling against his bonds.

“Stay still or you’ll tighten the knots,” Adam croaks. He has to lean his weight against Matthew or else he’ll fall over while he reaches around Matthew’s back and starts untying the rags around his wrists.

“Where did Kavinsky go?” Adam asks as his fumbling, numb fingers pluck desperately at the knot.

“Who?” Matthew asks. “I haven’t seen anyone since I came to. Except you.”

_Then I got to hurry._

Adam slowly starts getting the knot loose and is pulling the free end of the rag through when he hears the door to the room open.

_No. Just a few more seconds._

A rough hand grabs Adam’s shoulder and shoves him away. Adam falls onto his back next to Matthew, his head spinning from the sudden movement.

“Well, that was close,” Kavinsky huffs. He moves too fast for Adam’s brain to react, but Adam feels his head hit the hard floor painfully as Kavinsky backhands him.

Stars spin behind his eyelids and when they finally stop, he looks up to see Kavinsky straddling his hips, the awful gun pointed at his nose. Kavinsky is no longer wearing his sunglasses, allowing Adam to see his eyes. They are red and bruised and wildly darting across Adam’s face. Adam notices the slight twitchiness of Kavinsky’s empty hand, flicking his own finger nails with his thumb. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days. Or perhaps just took a hit of something illicit.

Adam tries to push Kavinsky off, but his arms flop uselessly against K’s solid form.

“Look at you,” Kavinsky says with disgust down the barrel of his gun. “As weak as a kitten. You had me worried earlier, you know? I thought you had stopped breathing.”

Adam’s eyes widen at the words. Kavinsky almost killed him.

“But that’s just the risk you take when you shoot up. Sometimes I wonder if he does it _because_ he might die. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate solution to all our problems?”

There is no longer a doubt in Adam’s mind that Kavinsky is completely off his rocker. There also isn’t a doubt about whom Kavinsky is currently referring to.

“He’s stronger than that,” Adam bites back. “He’s survived.”

“Yeah, but will you?”

Kavinsky leans down close to Adam. Adam turns his head, trying to get away. But there’s no escape. He can smell beer on Kavinsky’s breath. It reminds him so much of his father, looming over him, about to beat him senseless.

_Is that what K plans to do? Beat me senseless?_

“I don’t know what he sees in you,” Kavinsky hisses into Adam’s face. “I don’t know why he would want something so boring and prissy and weak. You’re filth.”

Adam feels Kavinsky’s empty hand wrap around his throat, steely fingers putting pressure on his jugular, while his thumb rests on his larynx.

“Tell me, mouse. Does he like you because he can do this to you?”

Kavinsky tightens his grip, cutting off the air to Adam’s lungs and the blood to his brain. Adam claws desperately at Kavinsky’s hand, forgetting there is a gun still pointed at his head. He is panicking because he can’t breathe, and his vision is going dim at the edges.

“Does he fuck you while he chokes you?” Kavinsky growls down at him. “Does he like it when you scratch at him?”

_Air. I need air._

Adam’s whole world is dimming, there is a thrumming in his skull that is getting louder. He is going to pass out.

“He used to let me choke him,” Kavinsky continues, his grip maintaining its constant pressure. “He liked it when I bit him. Punched him. He fucking loved it rough. He’d let me do anything to him, and he begged for more. He’d always come back for more. Until he didn’t.”

Kavinsky miraculously releases his grip. Adam coughs and sputters, gulping down large mouthfuls of air to get oxygen back into his blood.

“I wish I had Dick down here too,” Kavinsky muses to himself. “I think I’ll take him out next. He’s the one who put Lynch in fucking rehab.” He says rehab like it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. “Shitbag pretty boy always has to save everyone. Too bad he can’t save you, eh Parrish?” Kavinsky flashes Adam a wicked smile. “So, what should I do with you now?”

Kavinsky’s eyes roam up and down Adam’s body. It makes Adam feel queasy and violated. Or maybe that’s the drugs being cleared from his system.

“Maybe I should see what the fuss is all about?” Kavinsky considers, his free hand going down to Adam’s belt buckle.

“Don’t,” Adam gasps, but quickly shuts his mouth when Kavinsky taps the tip of his gun against Adam’s temple.

If everything wasn’t spinning, if he wasn’t so weak and dehydrated and sluggish, if he could just have a moment to gather his thoughts, Adam might be able to come up with a plan, some way to get out of this terrible situation. But he can’t. Because he is coming down from a terrible high, and Kavinsky is an immovable weight on top of him, and every single hair follicle is standing on end with fear as Adam stays as still as possible while Kavinsky starts unbuckling his pants. All Adam can see is K’s weasel grin and he can’t handle it, he can’t bear it a moment longer, so he closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing, keep his heart beating, because he doesn’t want to think about what’s about to happen to him.

 _No no no no no no_.

Kavinsky has Adam’s fly half undone when there is a loud crash from the other side of the door.

Kavinsky freezes, turning his head towards the sound.

“The fuck?” he murmurs to himself.

Then something hits Kavinsky like a truck and the gun goes off with a crack.

***

** Two hours ago **

Ronan’s world is spinning out of control. Every muscle in his body is taught. Every nerve wants to lash out. Blue is sitting next to him, having just put a steaming cut of tea in front of him. He hates her in that moment. He hates that she thinks tea could possibly make him feel better when his life is ending.

Adam and Matthew are missing. He had one chance. Once fucking chance. And he blew it. Declan will never forgive him, never let him see his little brother again. Never trust him again…

He almost wants to cry. Because he must call Declan. He needs Declan’s help to save Matthew. Calling Declan could save Matthew. Calling Declan means he will never be forgiven.

He feels something small and warm slip into his hand. He turns. Blue is staring at her feet, her lips white and pressed together in a frown. But her small hand is gripping his with all her might. He could cry.

“Of course we tried that. Intercom too.”

Gansey is chatting away on his phone in the background. Ronan may have remembered hearing him say he was calling Henry, which doesn’t seem relevant. But Gansey is pacing, his thumb rubbing his bottom lip, his President Gansey façade working working working.

“No, nothing.”

Gansey pauses, to listen to the voice on the other line.

“Yes. We don’t know. Adam won’t pick up either.”

Ronan feels a vibration in his leg. He ignores it, wanting to continue eavesdropping.

“They may be. But why?”

The phone’s vibrations won’t stop. He wishes it would. He wants to feel nothing.

“I think I do. But I wish I didn’t.” Another pause. “You know who. Who else? Yeah. Exactly.”

“Ronan,” Blue says suddenly, pressing her knee against his thigh. He grunts. “Maybe you should get that.”

She can hear the phone going off in his pocket too. He sighs, reaches for it. The name on the screen gives him life. It’s Matthew. Finally. Matthew.

“Matthew,” he gasps into the receiver.

“Hi, buttercup.”

Ronan’s heart turns to ice. He knows Matthew’s voice. He knows who this is. And he knows it isn’t Matthew.

Blue seems to notice the look of sheer horror on his face, because she quickly waves at Gansey to shut up.

“What’s the matter?” Kavinsky says on the other end. “Not happy to hear from me? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? That was rude, changing your number on me.”

Ronan swallows. He is unable to say anything. He is too angry. Too scared.

_Where is Matthew? Where is Adam?_

Those are the only questions that matter.

“I seem to have become a lost and found for you,” Kavinsky continues, unfazed by Ronan’s silence. “First I found a lost little brother. And now I found a lost little pet mouse. Unfortunately, the mouse isn’t doing so well.”

_Oh god, no. Oh god, please no._

“You see, I gave mousey boy some medicine. And now. Well… Why don’t you see for yourself?”

The line goes dead. Ronan’s eyes go wide. He pulls the phone away from his ear, stares at the dark screen.

“Ronan, who was it? What’s happening?” Gansey asks from behind his shoulder.

The phone vibrates suddenly in his hand, only once. He almost drops it. But he sees it’s a text message from Matthew’s phone. He opens it and finds a photo.

“Fuck,” Ronan breathes, his eyes falling shut, trying to forget what he just saw and knowing he never will. Knowing he has new content for his never-ending nightmares.

Blue grabs the phone from him and gasps in shock. Gansey actually swears.

It is the worse selfie in the history of selfies. It is Joseph Kavinsky, on the floor, smiling viciously with his tongue out next to Adam.

Adam, who has his left arm extended.

Adam, who still has a loose rubber tourniquet around his bicep and a syringe sticking out of his vein.

Adam, in the fetal position, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. He could be sleeping, drugged, or dead.

Adam, who doesn’t even notice that Kavinsky’s hand, the one not holding the camera phone, is roughly gripping his crotch.

_Jesus Christ. No. No. No._

Ronan wants to vomit.

“This can’t be real,” Gansey murmurs. “He would never. How? Why?”

The phone vibrates again in Blue’s hands. Ronan doesn’t want to know what it is. He wants to forget.

“That’s why,” Blue’s replies. Her voice is so terribly defeated.

“No,” Gansey gasps.

Ronan doesn’t want to know. But he has to know.

He takes the phone from Blue. Sees a second photo. Just as horrific as the first.

Matthew is on the same dusty floor. He is also lying down. He is gagged. His hands and feet are tied. There is blood, too much blood, matting his hair to his temple. His eyes are closed. Sleeping, drugged, or dead.

Ronan wants to crush the phone in his palm. He wants to crush Kavinsky’s skull. He wants to tear the world apart, bellowing out his rage.

 “We have to call the cops,” Blue says.

“We can’t,” Ronan replies.

“Why not?” snaps Blue. Her small frame is bubbling with the same fury Ronan feels.

It’s Gansey who answers. “They may arrest Adam. If he gets a record, he’s out of med school.”

“He might be dead for all we know!” Blue shouts angrily.

“If he is, so is K,” Ronan hisses.

“Ronan," Gansey warns.

“If it was Blue, you’d say the same!” Ronan shouts. “He has both of them.” Ronan’s voice suddenly loses all its bite and instead is choked with tears. “I have to get them back.”

“But we don’t know where they are,” Blue points out.

A muffled voice can be heard coming from the receiver of Gansey’s own phone still resting in his hand. They all startle, having forgotten Gansey was in the middle of a call when Kavinsky contacted Ronan. Gansey bring the phone back to his ear and says, “Repeat that, please.”

Gansey listens silently for a few breaths. His eyes suddenly widen.

“Henry says he can find them.”

Both Ronan and Blue’s heads dart to Gansey’s direction. Henry keeps chatting away.

“Your guy can really track the GPS?” A pause. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I thought that was a movie trope.”

“Do it!” Ronan urges desperately.

“He says it will take a little bit of time.” Gansey suddenly goes quiet again as he listens. “Yeah, okay, I’ll text you it now. Sounds good, see you soon.”

He hangs up, Blue and Ronan staring at him expectantly.

“He’s gonna get some stuff together, find Matthew’s cell location, and then come over,” Gansey explains as he offers his phone to Ronan. “He needs you to text him Matthew’s phone number.”

“Okay, and then?” Ronan asks, grabbing Gansey’s phone and quickly typing in the number.

_Send send send._

“We need to prepare ourselves,” Gansey suggests calmly. “This is K we’re talking about. You know nothing good will happen if you go unprepared.”

“Then let’s get prepared,” Blue says firmly.

“You shouldn’t get imvolved, Maggot,” Ronan mumbles.

“Fuck you, Lynch,” Blue spits back. Her tone is so aggressive, Ronan startles and stares down at her.

“Adam is my best friend,” she explains. “I don’t care how much you think you are in love with him, don’t you dare forget that I loved him first. I am not going to sit back and do nothing.”

“None of us are,” Gansey says, putting a calming hand on Blue’s shoulder.

“What, you have a plan?” Ronan asks. It’s sarcastic, but there is a hint of hope in his voice.

“No, but Henry does.”

***

“Okay, so pretend it’s like one of those remote-control cars that was all the hype in the nineties,” Henry explains as he hands Gansey the drone controller board.

“Camera image is on the screen. Left analogue is for yaw and throttle. Right analogue is for roll and pitch. Bottom button on d pad is for light, top one is to start and stop recording video.”

“In English, Henry,” Blue grumbles as Gansey looks at the contraption in his hand completely bewildered.

Henry didn’t lie when he said he could track down Matthew’s phone. Even more perplexing was that when Gansey had originally phoned him explaining the situation, his first suggestion was, “Let’s send out the drones.” Gansey’s biggest mistake was that he thought Henry was joking. But when Henry rang their doorbell thirty minutes later with an address and a large black duffle bag, Gansey had to kick himself for his own folly.

“Oh, for crying out loud, let me drive it then,” Henry snaps exasperated. He takes the controller back from Gansey and plops himself onto the couch next to Blue.

“He’s not coming,” Ronan growls.

“Look Lynch,” Henry says, glaring acid. “It’s my machine, therefore my rules. You want us to scout this address, you’re gonna have to let me do my thing.”

“You’re not coming.” Ronan speaks slowly, venom in his voice.

“Why?” Henry asks. He stares down Ronan, challenging him to come up with some excuse to exclude him.

“Because it’s none of your fucking business,” Ronan points out. “Because it’s potentially dangerous. Because you annoy me. Take your pick.”

“Ronan,” Gansey chides.

“Fuck, Dick, I didn’t ask you to involve him!” he snaps back.

“Well, I’m involved,” Henry says conversationally. “So you might as well use me. And my bot.”

“No.” Ronan’s voice is hard and brooks no argument.

“Fine,” Henry says, getting to his feet. “I’ll be on my way then. But if I so happen to choose to take Little Bee here on a late night pleasure cruise, and if I stumble upon…” he holds his hand in front of his face, the address scrawled on the back of it in pen, “sixty two Roslin street,” he reads, “and if I so happen to see your beau or brother or anything out of the ordinary, I guess it won’t be any of _your_ business, right?”

Ronan suddenly wants nothing more than to punch Henry in the face and the only thing stopping him is Gansey’s disapproval.

“Okay you two,” Blue sighs, stepping in front of Ronan in case he changes his mind and lunges. “Enough. Ronan, stop being an infant and let Henry help. Henry, don’t goad him, he’s had a rough night.”

The two boys glare at each other but say nothing more. They both know they need to put whatever complicated resentments they may have on the back burner. Saving Matthew and Adam comes first.

Neither of them realized that Step 1 involved crashing Henry’s drone through Kavinsky’s living room window. But it did.

***

** Now **

Adam blinks his eyes, trying to process what just happened.

There was a sound from the other side of the door. Like glass breaking. It had distracted Kavinsky just long enough for Matthew, who had been quietly getting out of his bonds, to make his move. Adam had apparently loosened the knot around Matthew’s wrists enough to let his own clumsy fingers do the rest. And while Kavinsky was devoting his time to tormenting Adam, Matthew had removed the bonds from around his legs and had waited for the perfect moment to tackle Kavinsky off Adam’s body.

Kavinsky reflexively fired the gun as he was getting pinned beneath Matthew, but fortunately the errant bullet hit the ceiling and did little damage but spray a bit of plaster into Adam’s hair.

“Adam, help me!” Matthew calls, struggling with a flailing Kavinsky beneath him. Matthew is lucky he weighs so much more than Kavinsky or he would have been bucked off by now. Matthew is trying desperately to keep the hand holding the gun pinned down, which is leaving him open to being battered across the head and face with K’s other fist.

Adam scrambles to his knees again, swallowing back the bile, forcing his body to move. He gets to Matthew and Kavinsky wrestling each other. He grabs the wrist holding the gun, digging in his nails with all his might, pushing the arm against the ground and away from them. This allows Matthew to free his hands and protect his head. It also allows Matthew to slam a powerful, meaty fist into Kavinsky’s face with a loud crunch.

Kavinsky’s fingers finally slack around the gun, and Adam quickly snatches it away from him.

“Enough!” Adam yells, pointing the gun at Kavinsky’s head. There is blood streaming from both of K’s nostrils, his teeth bared in a vicious grimace.

Kavinsky spits blood into Matthew’s face. Matthew barely flinches and keeps his weight on K’s torso, his hands pinning K’s arms to the ground.

Adam’s heart is about the thrum out of his chest. The whole tussle couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, but it feels like they were wrestling for hours. He barely hears the sounds in the background. Footsteps. Shouts. Glass crunching beneath feet. And then a familiar call.

“Matthew!”

“In here!” Matthew yells back. Kavinsky is silent, but glaring daggers at Matthew. His tongue darts out quickly to lick the blood dripping onto his lips. It makes Adam want to vomit again. Instead, he holds the gun as steady as his trembling fingers can manage. He wonders if his body will ever stop shaking.

The door to the garage crashes open and Ronan charges in. He’s holding a baseball bat and looks ready for war.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He shouts, and scrambles over to Matthew still sitting on Kavinsky.

“Hi Ro, wondered when you’d show up,” K says with a half grin marred in blood.

“The fuck happened?” Ronan asks Matthew. It is only a second later he turns to Adam and notices the gun.

“Fuck, Adam!” he says and slowly approaches.

“He…he kidnapped us,” Adam is able to breathe out. He won’t look at Ronan, though. He can’t. He has to keep the gun on Kavinsky.

More bodies hustle into the room. Adam hears a gasp, someone else swears, and someone else whistles dramatically.

“Adam,” Ronan says carefully, crouching next to him, dropping the baseball bat. “It’s over. You can put the gun down.”

Adam can’t, though. Ronan doesn’t understand. Not until Kavinsky is in cuffs being dragged to the cop car will he put down the gun.

“Adam, please,’ Ronan begs. He feels large warm hands cover his own. “Look at me, Adam.”

Adam glances at Ronan. His face is pale, worry etched in every pore.

“Give me the gun,” Ronan asks, his voice gentle.

Adam shakes his head. Not yet. They aren’t completely safe yet.

“Please. You can let go now. Please, Adam.”

Adam looks at Ronan. Sees his own fear and concern reflected on his lover’s face.

_What am I doing?_

It’s a valid question. Adam is in no shape to be making important decisions involving murderous weapons. His brain is still in a fog, his instincts being influenced by adrenaline.

_I should give Ronan the gun._

It’s the first clear-cut logical response his mind has conceived since he came to, and his body decides to listen. Slowly, he loosens his fingers. Slowly, Ronan takes the gun from him.

Ronan hands the gun to someone standing behind Adam before crushing Adam in his embrace.

“Thank god,” Ronan gasps. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.”

Adam is bewildered. He doesn’t understand why Ronan is apologizing. But Ronan’s heat and weight and embrace seem to be stabilizing his body. He feels his arms are trembling significantly less as he brings them up to wrap around Ronan’s broad shoulders. He feels like he can take the first real breath he has had in hours. And with the first pleasant exhale comes a flood of emotions. Including panic.

“Holy shit,” Adam breathes into Ronan’s shoulder. “Holy fucking shit.”

“I know,” Ronan says, holding him tight.

That’s all Ronan does. Just holds him. He doesn’t comment on the tremors wracking Adam’s body. He doesn’t whisper platitudes. He just holds him. The same way Adam held him when his world was fracturing with memories of a darker time.

Adam doesn’t cry. He thinks he may be in shock and can’t really be bothered with crying at the moment. No, that’s wrong. Shock is numbing. Adam is not numb. He is feeling. Finally feeling and processing. It’s awful. All the emotions flooding at once. At least his brain is starting to work again.

“You okay, Matthew?” Ronan asks while gripping Adam for dear life.

“Yeah. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Damn right,” Ronan growls.

“Cops are on their way,” Gansey’s voice informs them.

It’s a small comfort. Enough to let Adam’s pulse start to beat rhythmically and to taper down his hyperventilation. A part of him is aware there are lots of people in the room. He just can’t be bothered to do a head count.

Blue marches up to Kavinsky. She stares down at him, her eyes filled with cold rage. Kavinsky grins his bloody grin at her, then blows her a kiss. Blue grins back. Then she stomps a heavy boot right onto his crotch.

Kavinsky yells out in agony, and Matthew has to work doubly hard to keep him still beneath him.

“Harsh, Blue,” says another voice, slightly accented.

“He deserves worse,” Blue says unapologetically. Adam couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to give Matthew a win here because he doesn't get them often. He's not just a dumb blonde, y'know. :P  
> Take home message: don't fuck with the Lynches, people. Just don't do it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags/warnings: Angst. Violence.  
> Unbeta'd

A picture says a thousand words.

Ronan has two pictures plucked straight from his nightmares that he would rather delete from his phone forever. But those two pictures damn Kavinsky more than any statement can.

Kavinsky gets arrested. The cops eye Adam who is unable to stand on his own without leaning his weight heavily on Ronan. They call the paramedics. Ronan and Adam look at each other, a silent exchange passing between them. Adam needs medical treatment. He can’t get it unless they tell the truth. The whole truth. The pictures and Gansey’s winning smile and unadulterated charm convince the cops that Adam is not a regular user, but a victim that was under the duress of blackmail. They all go to the hospital together.

The harder trial comes the morning after the incident. Matthew misses his flight, being held in the hospital to be monitored for signs of a concussion. Gansey is the one who calls the eldest Lynch. Ronan can’t bring himself to inform Declan of all that had transpired, too pre-occupied with Adam, who has an i.v. line in his arm in an attempt to rehydrate him and help flush the drugs out of his system.

Declan flies in to personally pick up Matthew. He needs to see with his own eyes that all the Lynches are alive, safe, and accounted for. Which they are.

The hospital room is tense as Declan hugs Matthew, sucking air through his teeth as his fingers probe the evident bump on the side of Matthew’s head.

Then his attention shifts to Ronan, sitting at the foot of Adam’s bed, watching the boy sleep off the horrors of the previous evening. Before Declan can say a single word to Ronan about the incident, and it is clear he has a lot to say with the way his face is red and his jaw is clenched, Matthew steps in front of him in the small hospital room, looks Declan straight in the eyes and says, “Adam almost died protecting me.”

Whatever rant or lecture Ronan was about to receive dies on Declan’s tongue. Instead, he turns to look at the young man, breathing deep is restful sleep, the sounds of monitoring devices beeping quietly in the background.

Declan sighs, rubs his face in his hands and looks back at Ronan. Ronan too has his jaw clenched, fist tight on his lab, bracing himself for the vitriol a part him feels he deserves. In a way, it is Ronan’s fault. Ronan is the one who brought Kavinsky into all their lives via a slew of bad choices.

But even Declan, filled with rage and disappointment, acknowledges that the level of crazy Kavinsky brings to the table is not solely Ronan’s fault.

“Tell him thank you for me,” Declan says, his voice sounding tired. “When he wakes up.”

Ronan nods his assent.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Declan adds meaningfully. Ronan can only nod again.

And that was all Declan had to say on the matter.

The unfortunate reality is that Kavinsky’s parents bail him out of jail that same day. It is a slap in the face, but getting a restraining order is easy this time around. There will still be a court case eventually. Gansey offers his family’s team or ruthless lawyers. Declan is working on amassing support from all his personal connections. Even Henry hints his mother’s resources are at their disposal (whatever that means). But they all have doubts that any of this will keep Kavinsky behind bars for long, Bulgarian mob prince that he is.

There is one silver lining: the awful pictures spare Adam from having to tell Ronan in his own words the horrible choice K had forced upon him. Adam’s suffering is clear enough in the way he grips Ronan when he is found. In the way he can’t walk straight for hours afterward. In the way he breaks out into sweats, bouts of nausea, and tremors, on and off for the next two days after being discharged from the hospital. Adam can’t tell if it is withdrawal symptoms or PTSD. Ronan makes it his personally mission to stay by Adam’s side for every moment like a doting mother. Adam tells him it is unnecessary. Ronan rebuts by saying they live in the same apartment and he has no where else he needs to be.

Neither say what they truly mean.

_I’m so relieved you’re okay._

By the third day after the incident, Adam is more himself. He has better control of his body. He is eating without feeling nauseous. He doesn’t need to sleep 16 hours per day. He even cracks open a textbook and reads up on cardiovascular disease. Adam being better also means they have no more excuse to skirt around the elephant in the room.

Ronan has braced himself for the worse. He won’t blame Adam if he wants to break up. He won’t blame Adam if he doesn’t want Ronan to ever touch him again. He would understand if Adam doesn’t want to talk to him or look at him or share the same air. It is easy for Ronan to blame himself and expect hatred.

It is much harder to simply sit down and talk about it.

Predictably, Adam decides on his own that they are going to do things the hard way.

Such a strategy involves Adam cornering Ronan as he steps out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his hips.

“Can we talk?” Adam asks.

 _Here we go._ Ronan sighs, nods.

“You can get dressed first,” Adam offers. He does.

They sit side by side on the couch. Ronan knows Adam’s tell when he’s nervous: his fidgets his lovely fingers. They drum against his knee, they clench and unclench. He cracks his knuckles, one at a time, in the same pattern. Adam is certainly nervous.

_He’s going to break up with me._

“I think,” Adam starts slowly, allowing himself to taste the words before they leave his mouth. “I think I understand better now.”

Ronan waits silently for elaboration, unsure where this is going, but suspecting it’s going to go downhill.

“Kavinsky is the most toxic person I have ever met. And I grew up with Robert Parrish.”

Ronan can only shrug in response. Adam isn’t wrong.

“But I can see how he could get you to do something horrible, and convince you it was the best choice.”

Ronan stares at his feet. He remembers only fragments of his past conversations with Kavinsky. Not that they spent the majority of their time together talking. Kavinsky was very skilled at getting Ronan to say yes. Yes to racing. Yes to another beer. Yes to one more hit. Yes to taking him to his bed. They were never yesses because it was what Ronan actually wanted. They were yesses because Kavinsky would always argue how the noes would lead to something worse.

“I want you to know,” Adam continues, “that anything you may have done with him doesn’t matter to me. Whatever he made you do. Or made you think you wanted to do. I don’t care. I will never care. I just don’t want to be haunted by him. I don’t want you to be haunted by him either.”

Ronan is trying to process Adam’s words. They aren’t what he expected. They aren’t angry or sad or resentful. They are simply… forgiving.

_Why?_

“You don’t hate me?” Ronan asks. The words come out more bitter than he intends. He knows his default setting is defensive, and he hopes Adam can see past it.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you suffered. Just for loving me.”

 _Oh shit._ Ronan didn’t mean for the L word to come out that easily. However, Ronan doesn’t lie. So he doesn’t take the words back.

Adam shifts, allowing his fingers to drift up Ronan’s bare arm, watching transfixed as goosebumps follow in his wake.

“Hey.”

Ronan’s eyes shift up to Adam’s. He is going to drown in that ocean some day. Who is he kidding? He already has.

“I suffered because Joseph Kavinsky is a psychopath,” Adam says, his hand falling back to his lap. “I survived because you gave me a reason to.”

Ronan notices a blush colour Adam’s cheeks at the admission. He can’t believe it. He can’t understand.

_Why?_

“It’s funny how the worst moments of your life give you perspective,” Adam continues with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “I knew what Kavinsky was trying to do. And all I could think of was, ‘I have to stop him from hurting Ronan’. Which meant I had to protect Matthew. It was that simple. I know I may sound like a terrible person, but I didn’t do it for Matthew’s own sake. I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of that asshole toying with you anymore. You deserve to be free of him.” Adam reaches up, cups Ronan’s cheek with his hand. “I know you find it hard to believe, but you’ve paid for your sins. You’ve earned a clean slate. You deserve happiness.”

 _I don’t deserve you,_ Ronan thinks, melting into Adam’s touch.

“I think we both do,” Adam adds. “I think we’ve both suffered enough.”

Ronan feels the tears fall from his eyes. He is embarrassed, and he reaches up to wipe them away, but Adam’s hand gets there first, his thumb swiping off the droplets.

“I want to move on,” Adam whispers, a slight waver in his voice. “I want to move forward. Will you do that with me?”

Ronan can’t speak. Not with the way he is feeling, his chest ready to burst. He nods into Adam’s palm. He grasps Adam’s hand with his own, turns his head to plant a single kiss into his lifeline.

“Okay.”

A tear finally falls from Adam’s own eyes. Ronan tracks its path down his cheek. He leans down to kiss the tear away. He tastes salt.

Adam catches Ronan’s lips with his own before Ronan can pull away. He tastes sweet. It’s the wettest kiss either of them have experienced as they both cry silently into each other’s mouths. It’s the most intimate kiss either of them have experienced, as they share their most vulnerable selves.

The kiss is a pact: to allow each other to be loved fully by the other. To trust the other. To make each other happy. To move forward.

***

Ronan still has one more uncomfortable confrontation to deal with.

Declan shows a rare bout of kindness by letting Ronan look after Adam first and foremost. That isn’t to say Declan let it go. Declan Lynch lets nothing go.

When he calls, Ronan answers. Avoiding Declan would just lead to him flying back to Boston to berate Ronan in person. Ronan rather not see his brother as he tells him he can never come near Matthew again.

“Well, you’ve changed,” Declan’s voice teases from Rona’s receiver. “Not only answering your phone, but after one ring no less.”

“Just get it over with,” Ronan growls.

He’s alone for this. He needs to be alone for this. It’s not like Adam can spare him from this anyway.

“Get it over with?” Declan spits back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means if you are going to tell me I fucked up, I know!” Ronan yells into his cell. “It means if you are going to take Matthew away from me forever, just say it! Don’t drag this out longer than it needs to be.”

Declan exhales long and hard on the other line.

“You’re a fucking prick, you know that?” Declan berates him. Ronan holds his tongue. He knows Declan’s vocabulary of swears is as varied and eclectic as his own; Declan is just too polite to use it as often as Ronan does. “Why do you always have to think the worst of me?”

Ronan laughs humourlessly.

“You always think the worse of _me_ ,” he retorts.

“I used to,” Declan admits. “There was a time when you deserved it.” Ronan lets out another humourless laugh. “But this time…”

_This time?_

“I almost feel like it’s my fault,” Declan finishes lamely.

“The fuck?” It’s the only response that makes sense in Ronan’s head.

“Kavinsky was a loose end I should have dealt with.”

“How the hell could you have done that?” Ronan snarls. “He’s untouchable. Gansey already tried.”

“Well this time he isn’t getting away with shit. He involved Matthew, Ronan. _Matthew._ ”

“And Adam,” Ronan reminds his brother calmly.

“And Adam,” Declan agrees. “Jesus, how is he?”

“Oh, so now you care?”

“Ronan. I said don’t be a prick. Of course I care.”

Ronan snorts.

“Ronan, stop it,” Declan says sternly, like he’s chastising and infant. “How is Adam doing?” he asks more softly.

“He didn’t run away screaming, if that’s what you mean,” Ronan says darkly.

“I didn’t imagine he would.”

It’s Ronan’s turn to sigh.

“It doesn’t look like K shared the video or photos with anyone. So far there have been no repercussions. Except maybe being scarred for life.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah…” There’s a pause between the two brothers, both in awe at how civil they are being with each other. “How’s Matthew?”

“Like nothing happened.”

“Seriously?” Ronan is surprised.

“That kid is as cool as a cucumber. He just keeps asking if Adam is okay.”

Ronan smiles. He doesn’t know a single person more pure-hearted than his little brother.

“You tell him Adam is fine.”

“You tell him yourself,” Declan tosses back. “Easter isn’t too far away. You will be coming to D.C., right? With Adam?”

And just like that, Ronan knows he is forgiven. He is silent for a few heart beats, the relief washing through him in a wave that just drains him of all thoughts.

“Ronan? You are coming, right?” Declan prods.

“Yeah,” Ronan says, his throat constricting with emotion. “But there is no way in hell Parrish is going to mass with us.”

Declan laughs.

“Then he can stay home and cook the pot roast.”

And it's just that easy. Ronan can’t believe it. After they hang up, he stares at his phone in silence for a good five minutes, simply unable to believe how it could be that easy.

_You’ve earned a clean slate._

Those were Adam’s words. Ronan didn’t accept them at the time. He may actually consider them now.

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

The man in grey looks at his prey. The boy struggles against his bonds, cussing up a storm under the burlap sac that is on his head.

The kid wasn’t particularly clever or evasive. The kid didn’t seem to expect to be taken.

Usually his targets are a little bit more paranoid. But not this one. This one was walking around like he owned the entire world. Idiot.

“Fuck is going on!” the boy screams angrily. He struggles against the zip ties around his wrists, binding them behind his back and to the cold metal chair upon which he sits. The chair is stainless steel. Best for getting the blood off.

“Do you know who I fucking am? Whoever you are, you are dead.”

The man in grey rolls his eyes and starts twisting the silencer into place. He checks his watch. He still has two hours to finish the job before anyone will be around. Plenty of time to clean and remove all his traces after the contract is fulfilled.

He walks up to the young, bound man. He reaches up and pulls the bag from his head.

“Who the fuck are you?” the boy spits. The man in grey doesn’t answer, but reaches forward to pluck the white Ray-bans from his face. He doesn’t want anything to get in the way of the bullet. He has a reputation of never making mistakes, and he plans to keep it. He pockets the sunglasses and lifts the muzzle of his pistol right between the young man’s eyes.

“What do you want?” the man gasps desperately. “I have money. I can pay you off.”

The man in grey shakes his head.

“Don’t do this. I’ll give you whatever you want. I have connections. My father-”

The young man never gets to finish his sentence before the man in grey puts a bullet in between his brows. He then shoots the man in the chest, twice. The young man was dead after the first shot, but the man in grey never makes mistakes. Never.

He unscrews the silencer from the gun. He then meticulously takes the gun apart, piece by piece, and puts them in a duffle bag where each piece will be destroyed in a different location.

He then moves towards the hose and the bins of chemicals to start the arduous cleaning process. But first:

The man in grey pulls out his phone and calls the number he was given by the contractor.

It only rings once before the line is answered.

“Yes?”

“It is done.”

“Good.”

The line goes dead. The grey man gets to work.

***

In a trendy penthouse apartment in Washington, D.C., Declan Lynch hangs up an ancient thirty-dollar flip-phone. He breaks it into two with his bare hands and then tosses the pieces into his lit fireplace. He watches the plastic start to melt for a minute before he lifts a crystal glass to his lips and swallows the rest of his very expensive Scotch. He sits back down in front of his laptop to finish up the accounts for his meeting on Friday.

The eldest Lynch brother has always been the keeper of their father’s dirty secrets. For the first time ever, he is burdened with keeping one of his own.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. Yeah. Actually.  
> I thought long and hard about this chapter, and I felt this was the ending. The journey is always more important than the destination, and the Pynch happy ending is something the boys now have the foundations to build.
> 
> Thank you all a million times over for reading, leaving kudos, commenting, and driving me to keep going when I had days I felt uninspired or was being bogged down with too much workload. This was an intense fic to write even though I knew where I was going with it from the beginning. I'm hope you all enjoyed the ride!


	22. BONUS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. I got a bunch of comments recently demanding "More more more!" and "Give us closure smut!" and "Adam's POV!". And I was like, "No, sorry, not happening, story is done, finito, over. Move along, now. That's all, folks."  
> And then this just sorta happened and I was like, "Goddamit."  
> I guess that makes me a dirty fucking liar...  
> You're welcome?
> 
> Tags: explicit sexual content  
> Unbeta'd

Adam Parrish likes to understand everything. He is very systematic in his approach, mostly because he is a true scientist at heart. He would see the problem, come up with a null hypothesis, break it down, examine the pieces up close, examine the pieces from afar, examine the whole, cross-reference, research, rinse-and repeat, until he had an answer.

His approach usually works for most problems. But that’s because most problems have some sense or rationality to them. Adam likes it when things are rational. He could work with rational.

Unfortunately for Adam, not everything is rational.

For example: emotions. Particularly his own emotions.

Adam is almost ashamed of how little he knows about himself and how hard it is to understand his own feelings. Looking back, he could almost kick himself for not realizing immediately he had been crushing on his enigmatic roommate for months. He can’t believe how stupid he was by not realizing how fucked up Kavinsky had left Ronan. Worst of all, he hates himself for taking so long to realize his feelings for Ronan are not just lust or friendship. That there is an L word looming in his periphery and he is too chicken shit to just openly embrace it. Especially with someone like Ronan Lynch, who doesn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. _Ronan_ , who gave Adam his heart the first time they even kissed.

Adam’s emotions are clearly stunted. He knows he could partially blame his more-than-fucked-up childhood on that, but he also doesn’t like making excuses for himself. He is supposed to be smart. Smart people should be able to figure themselves out.

  _So what the hell is wrong with me now?_

There is a permanent choking feeling in his chest. The thought alone makes no sense, because choking should be felt in the throat. But no, Adam is sure. It’s in his chest. A tightness, a hotness, cutting off his breath every time Ronan walks into a room. Constricting his ribs every time Ronan shares that secret, intimate smile with him. It burns every time they have to break apart after a kiss or touch.

It feels like suffocation, even though Adam is perfectly capable of breathing. Like he is going to die if he doesn’t get more of…something. Of _Ronan_.

He can’t keep his fingers still. They want to tear his own skin off while he is at the school or the hospital, itching and waiting and needing something the cold white walls around him cannot provide.

His mouth always feels dry. He can drink all the water in the world and that dryness won’t be sated until Ronan is in his arms. And even then, it’s temporary. Because Ronan can’t exist in his arms every waking moment of every day.

Adam’s mind provides him a very worrisome conclusion.

_Addiction._

It makes sense. His symptoms are textbook for withdrawal (well, except the nausea, and he already has had that horrific experience and is in no rush to repeat it).

These kinds of feelings, the ones that are often described by hormonal teenagers and sappy romance novels, he had never believed they were real. Until now. He is living them, this phase of love where your brain short-circuits and someone becomes an obsession, a purpose for living, the only goal at the end of the day. He hates it. Absolutely loathes it.

What happened to Adam Parrish, unstoppable diamond in the rough who would fight until he killed himself to obtain his dreams? What happened to stubborn, determined Adam Parrish, who knew how to handle every cruelty life threw at him? What happened to calm, rational Adam Parrish, who never got carried away?

Dead. Buried. Broken. Lit on fire and a discarded in a ditch.

There is one Adam Parrish left. The one who is madly in love with Ronan Lynch. And he couldn’t give two flying fucks about anything else when that boy was in the room with him, looking at him like Adam put the stars in the sky.

These emotions were getting out of control. Adam was getting out of control.

The definition of Adam Parrish is supposed to be _always in control_.

Adam is not in control.

He knows this while he kisses Ronan, every inch of his skin on fire while his hands try to tear Ronan open so he can crawl inside. He knows this while he is in the shower, his fingers snaking their way around his back to his hole, gently stretching himself open, fantasizing they were Ronan’s fingers, preparing him for the one thing he still has left to give.

The one thing Ronan still won’t take.

It has been six months since they became a couple, six months since the breakdown in the bedroom, but only three months since Kavinsky’s torture. It has been six months of lazy Sunday’s making out on their couch, of hand jobs in the shower, of frotting against each other in their too small beds. Six wonderful months of Ronan’s mouth exploring Adam’s skin, of Adam’s hands massaging Ronan’s tattoo. Six months of memorizing each other’s bodies, of Adam catching Ronan drawing constellations in the  freckles on Adam’s shoulder, of Adam enjoying the fine prickle of Ronan’s shaved scalp against his fingertips. Six months of doing everything except _that_.

 Adam really wants to do _that._

It’s part of the addiction, he thinks. Wanting everything of Ronan. And he already took. That Christmas day at Declan’s still thrills him and haunts him in equal measures. Ronan had given himself over to Adam completely, and had asked for one thing in return: for Adam to lose a bit of control.

He had. And it was wonderful and terrifying and every day he doubts if Ronan had been truthful when he said it didn’t hurt, that he loved it. Adam still needs to know. He needs to feel what Ronan felt. To be sure. To be filled by Ronan.

_God, to be filled by Ronan._

Just the thought makes Adam’s mouth go dry. He wants it so bad. To know and to feel. He wants and wants and wants. Six months of _almost_ and _so close_ and getting off without Ronan just taking him. He is going insane and he cannot take it anymore.

He needs this. And there is only one way to get there.

They are going to have to talk about it.

Neither young man is particularly good at talking about it.

“I don’t want this wall between us anymore,” Adam whispers into the skin of Ronan’s shoulder.

They are in bed together. It’s late. Adam had a shadowing shift with cardiology that had lasted the better part of the evening. Ronan had been at the studio preparing for an art show. By the time both of them had finished with their days, they had been incapable of doing much more than collapsing into bed, barely a word spoken between them.

They lie side by side, pressed against each other. Warm and safe and tired beyond belief. Until Adam had spoken into the quiet.

Ronan shifts at Adam’s words, turning himself to face Adam. He stares at Adam thoughtfully. Adam doesn’t elaborate further. He doesn’t need to. There is only one wall between them in their otherwise functional relationship.

“Do you really still think you are capable of hurting me?” Adam asks. “After all this time? After everything we’ve been through?”

Ronan blinks down at Adam, letting the words wash over him.

Adam reaches a hand up to cup Ronan’s face. Ronan exhales at the touch. He is warm. And alive. And so lovely.

“I trust you,” Adam whispers, his thumb gently caressing the purple smudge of exhaustion beneath Ronan’s eye. “The question is: are you finally ready to trust yourself?”

Ronan’s eyes fall closed, a pained expression on his face.

“I’ll wait,” Adam says. “As long as it takes. As long as you need. I just wanted you to know that I trust you.”

Ronan’s eyes stay closed as his hand reaches up to hold Adam’s palm against his face. They stay like that for a few more seconds, breathing each other’s air, taking comfort in each other’s presence. When Ronan speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“You really want this?” he asks. His eyes flutter open, and he looks at Adam like he is the sun, the moon, the stars.

“Yes. Do you?”

Ronan swallows, but doesn’t break eye contact. He just stares and stares and stares. Like just looking at Adam is all he could ever want.

“I want you to be happy,” Ronan says. “I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“I am happy,” Adam replies. “But I don’t want to do anything unless you want it too. So I need to hear you say it. Do you want me?”

Ronan groans as if Adam’s words are torture. “Always,” he says pushing himself up so he can lean over Adam. Lowering himself down so he can kiss him. “Always,” he puffs into Adam’s lips before he dives in again. He kisses Adam so gently. Their lips caress each other. There is no urgency or eagerness in this kiss. It is slow and languid and patient.

Adam’s arms snake up around Ronan’s shoulders. One hand holds the back of Ronan’s neck. The other slips under Ronan’s tank, seeking warm skin. Adam feels himself melt into his mattress under Ronan’s lips. They tease him in their slowness. It’s almost a dance. Adam opens his mouth to take more, but Ronan doesn’t give it. He takes his time, his hands combing through Adam’s hair. When Ronan pulls away, his eyes almost look wet.

“Ronan…” Adam gasps, his heart clenching. Ronan just shakes his head, a hand coming up to wipe the unfallen tears away.

“I’m just…” Ronan begins, but seems to lose his words. He shakes his head again, as if to dislodge the fog tying up his tongue. “Fuck, Adam.” Ronan takes a slow inhale, a delirious smile curving his lips. “I’m just so fucking in love with you.”

And there it is. The L word. The first time anyone has ever said it to Adam in that context. With that much conviction.

Adam surges up, tightening his arms around Ronan, pulling him back in for another kiss. This one is less gentle and patient and slow. This one is Adam letting all the emotions he can barely understand suck Ronan in.

“I love you too,” Adam pants out before clashing their teeth together again. “I love you,” he repeats before forcing his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. “I love you,” he breathes against Ronan’s skin, their cheeks pressed together.

Adam is surprised how easy it is to say it. And more so by how much he means it. He thought the first time he’d tell someone he loved them would be difficult. Would even be a lie. But it was so easy that he was able to say it three times and didn’t stutter once. It was so easy, he could say it again and again and mean it every time.

_I love him._

Ronan pulls away, a clear blush on his fair skin, noticeable even in the dark. He rolls onto his back, lying next to Adam, staring at the ceiling. Adam watches him curiously.

“I warned you,” Ronan whispers to the ceiling.

“Hm?”

“I warned you. That first day.”

Adam closes his eyes and thinks back to that day six months ago. That kiss. That confession. When they both finally gave into their growing attraction.

_If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to. At all._

Ronan’s words. Ronan giving a chance for Adam to back out.

“And I answered you.”

_I want this._

Adam’s words. A reassurance.

“Okay,” Ronan says, finally turning his head to look at Adam.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m ready. I want you.”

“Now?” Adam asks, surprised. The fatigue he had felt upon arriving home is suddenly long gone. Instead, his pulse is thrumming with adrenaline.

“Sure, now. Unless you’re too tired…”

Adam jumps Ronan, straddling him, his arms on either side of Ronan’s head, pinning him beneath him.

“Now’s good,” Adam says. Ronan looks at Adam with wide eyes before he burst into laughter.

“Christ, Parrish, thirsty much?”

Adam’s eyes turn to slits before he quickly pinches Ronan’s nipple.

“Ouch!” he yelps in between giggles.

“You know how badly I want this,” Adam hisses between clenched teeth. “But if you’re going to be a dick about it…” he starts to swing his leg over to get off Ronan when he feels a vice-like grip around his waist.

“No,” Ronan gasps, catching his breath, holding Adam in place. “I’m sorry. I just…I want it too. It’s just nice.”

“What is?”

“You. Horny.” That wicked smile spreads across Ronan’s face. “I love it when you’re horny.”

Adam rolls his eyes, but leans down to kiss Ronan again. When he pulls away, Ronan is still grinning like the devil, his thumbs kneading Adam’s hip in playful circles.

“How do you want to do this?” Ronan asks.

Adam has had more than enough time to have conceived multiple scenarios.

“I want to be facing you,” he says. “But I think it would be best if I was lying down.”

With those words, Adam climbs off Ronan. It gives him an opportunity to divest himself of his t-shirt and his boxer shorts. Ronan watches him, still with that smile on his face. Adam lies back on the bed, naked, half-hard, and lifts a brow at Ronan.

“All right,” Ronan says. He pushes himself off the bed to open the drawer in the bedside table. He pulls out the lube and the condoms and places them next to Adam’s hip. He then stands-up straight to pull off his black tank-top and boxer-briefs, before rolling back onto the bed, lying on his side, flush against Adam.

“Legs up,” he tells Adam. Adam bends his legs at the knees and follows Ronan with his eyes as he manoeuvres himself a bit lower down Adam’s body. Ronan trails a hand up Adam’s thigh and back down his calf, sending a shiver up Adam’s spine.

When he finally gets between Adam’s leg he reaches his hand towards Adam’s belly.

“Lube me up,” Ronan says, holding his palm open.

Adam grasps the tube lying next to his hip and flicks open the cap, but then stops himself, an intriguing idea entering his mind.

“I can do it,” he offers. Ronan blinks at him from between his thighs.

“What?”

“I can do it. I’ve…I’ve been practicing.”

Ronan’s eyes go wide.

“You’ve been practicing?”

“Yes.”

“When?” Ronan asks.

Adam feels his cheeks warm.

“In the shower.”

“You’ve been fingering yourself in the shower?” Ronan repeats in disbelief.

“Yes.”

That devilish smile curves Ronan’s lips again.

“Did it feel good?” he asks.

Adam raises a brow, feeling his own lips start to quirk as he catches onto the game.

“Very.”

Ronan scoots off the bed to stand by Adam’s side. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, all 6’3” of his naked person on full display. “Show me,” he says and then waits.

Adam smirks and turns onto his side so that his ass is facing Ronan. He pours a copious amount of the lube onto his fingers, letting his thumbs spread the gel around. He gives Ronan a quick glance over his shoulder before he reaches around and uses his dry hand to spread his cheeks.

Ronan is silent as Adam probes with his lubed finger, finding the pucker of his entrance. He massages it gently before pushing his finger inside with an exhale.

He has done this so many times, it’s almost like his body is on autopilot. He has been anticipating this moment for so long, has craved it for so long, it almost feels like he’s dreaming.

The feeling is familiar now. The tightness, the stretch. It doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it’s not enough. Because it’s just his fingers again. And what he really wants is _Ronan_.

Adam looks over his shoulder, catches Ronan staring at him, completely transfixed as he pushes the second finger in.

_Might as well give him a show._

Adam closes his eyes and scissors himself. The pull is divine and he moans at the sensation. He can just imagine Ronan behind him, reaching down between his legs to stroke himself as he watches Adam coaxing himself open.

It’s hard to angle himself just right to hit his own prostate, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this and his own imagination has given him inspiration. He uses his free hand to grasp his shaft and tugs. Electricity curls around his guts.

So many times... So many times standing in the shower, his forehead pressed against the cold tile, fingers deep inside, fingers holding his cock tight. All waiting for this. For Ronan.

Adam moans into the pillow pressed against his cheek, pulling himself open, his hips twitching into his palm.

“Jesus Christ,” he hears Ronan whisper from behind him and Adam feels himself smile.

“Almost everyday,” Adam pants into the pillow. “I’d do this almost everyday. Fantasizing of you.”

Adam pushes the third finger in and throws his head back with a gasp.

“I’d do this before we’d fool around,” he continues, incapable of completely supressing the waver in his voice as he works himself harder. “So I’d be ready. In case you wanted to. In case you changed your mind. I wanted to be ready for you.”

The three fingers burn a bit. They always do. But the burn is pleasant. Because usually, once he gets to three, he picks up the pace with his other hand. Usually, he tightens his grip and passes his thumb over the slit; the way Ronan likes it. Usually, he brings himself to climax with the hiss of Ronan’s name between his teeth.

But this time, he lets go of himself instead of giving into the release. When he is loose and relaxed and three fingers don’t burn at all anymore, he removes them and turns around, his erection curving hungrily up his belly. Every inch of him is tremoring with anticipation as he looks to Ronan.

Ronan’s eyes are wide, his pupils dilated. His arms are still crossed in front of his chest, but his fingers are digging into his flesh, gripping hard enough to bruise. Adam is almost a little disappointed that Ronan hadn’t moved an inch during his little show. That isn’t to say Ronan wasn’t affected. His cock is so engorged, it looks painful. Adam can see the glint of a single bead of pre-cum at the tip and has the sudden urge to lap it off. Adam also notices that Ronan’s breathing is a bit erratic, every muscle taut as he stands there staring down at Adam, every inch of his normally pale complexion flushed.

“Enjoy the show?” Adam teases. Ronan’s expression suddenly darkens as his arms fall to his sides.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ronan’s voice is a husky growl. He takes a looming step towards Adam so that he can tower directly over him. Adam smirks up at him. He knows well that Ronan goes crazy when he talks dirty, so he had made sure to give Ronan a commentary he won’t soon forget.

_In fact, why stop now…_

“I was hoping I’d catch you touching yourself,” Adam says, pushing himself onto his elbows, head cocked to the side. “Did I ever tell you how much I like watching you touch yourself?” Adam reaches a finger out and quickly swipes the bead of moisture off Ronan’s tip, causing Ronan to hiss. He slowly brings his finger to his lips and sucks the salty, bitter drop onto his tongue. “Like that awkward time I walked in on you. I couldn’t look away. I replay that in my head over and over again. God, you were so fucking hot.”

Ronan finally leans down and kisses Adam filthily. He presses his tongue into Adam’s mouth with a moan, his hand holding Adam’s chin firmly against his face. When Ronan pulls away, there is pure fire in his eyes.

“I noticed,” Ronan whispers.

“Were you thinking of me?” Adam asks cheekily. “I know you were after you caught me watching. But before I walked in on you, I’ve always wondered if you were thinking of me.”

Ronan smiles, his hand stealthily reaching towards the middle of the bed where the condoms had been carelessly knocked aside.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Adam huffs haughtily. Ronan’s grin grows but he does not comment further. Instead he straightens and does not break eye contact as his nimble fingers make quick work of the condom wrapper before rolling the condom onto his tumescent cock. Ronan silently reaches his hand out, and guides Adam’s legs up again so he can place himself between them. Adam is still staring Ronan down, his expression dangerous and patient, challenging Ronan to answer.

“Cut me some slack,” Ronan finally replies, his hand gliding up Adam’s shin. “That was a rough night. Everything is a bit of a blur.”

Adam blinks, remembering how that day ended. Remembering staying up all night next to an incoherent Ronan, making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Adam commands his brain to immediately forget that train of thought.

“I do remember one thing clearly,” Ronan adds as his hand gently nudges Adam’s knees wider apart. “I remember the way you licked your fucking lip like a goddamn porn star.” Adam lets out a surprised laugh at that answer. “Seriously,” Ronan continues, lining himself up between Adam’s thighs. “I almost came just from that brief flick of your tongue. It fucking killed me.”

Adam shakes his head in disbelief, but can’t shake the smile off his face, the butterflies in his stomach.

“You ready?” Ronan asks, suddenly very serious. He is hovering between Adam’s legs, the tip of his dick touching the crack of Adam’s ass.

Of course Adam is ready. He has been ready for weeks, his body craving this, surprising him with its obsession at the most inopportune times. Adam has wanted nothing more for so long. He wants to _feel everything._ He wants to feel Ronan inside. He wants to see Ronan’s face as he rides him. He wants Ronan to cry out his name as he loses control. Adam is in a state of perpetual lust and he just wants to feel sated. So when Adam looks Ronan in the eye and nods his assent, he hopes Ronan can see that _ready_ is an understatement. That _need_ is the more appropriate word for Adam’s current state of mind.

“It’s going to feel like much more than your fingers,” Ronan warns.

“I trust you,” is Adam’s only answer, uttered in a husky whisper that makes Ronan swallow. It’s also exactly what Ronan needs to hear.

He advances, and Adam can feel the pressure on his hole. He closes his eyes and welcomes it. The stretch, the filling.

_Finally. Finally. Finally._

Ronan goes in slow, patient, careful, inch by agonizing inch. Adam just lets himself feel. His brain is blissfully quiet as their bodies begin to merge. The only sound in the moonlit room is their breathing, deep and stuttering. Ronan is right; it is so much more than his fingers. How useless his stupid fingers had been when compared to _Ronan._ Adam had braced himself for pain, for pressure. But not _this._ Not in a million years could he have imagined feeling _this_. He feels so utterly _complete_ it breaks his heart.

“Are you okay?” Ronan asks so gently, so concerned, it makes Adam’s eyes flutter open. He realizes that his left cheek is wet. A single tear had coursed a trail down it. He hadn’t even noticed when he had shed it.

“Yes,” he replies reverently. “Don’t stop.”

“But…” Ronan reaches out, his thumb wiping away the traitorous droplet.

“I’m fine,” Adam reassures, grasping Ronan’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “I swear. Please, don’t stop.”

Ronan just stares silently at him, his expression a flurry of lust, confusion, and tenderness.

“I love you,” Adam says again, and it costs him nothing to do so. “That’s all. I love you.”

Ronan nods and takes his hand back. He shifts himself slowly, placing his arms on either side of Adam, leaning more over his body, forcing Adam’s hips higher. The movement of Ronan inside him makes Adam exhale.

Still apprehensive, bearing his own weight on his forearms, Ronan slowly pulls out. It’s another feeling in and of itself: being full and then being empty. There is relief in the feeling, but Adam can feel his muscles contracting, missing the stretch and pressure. Missing being connected. Blessedly, Ronan doesn’t wait long to start pushing back in, this time more smoothly. It’s easy; Adam’s body is totally accepting. And totally unprepared for the exquisite jolt of electricity as Ronan caresses his prostate in their new positions.

Adam has absolutely no control of his body as he throws his head back and moans at the tension. His stomach muscles are tight, and he can feel himself shivering with the pleasure. His hand reaches for his poor neglected cock between their bodies, hungry for release.

“Not yet,” Ronan breathes into Adam’s neck as he pushes Adam’s hand away from himself. “You can’t do that yet.”

“ _Ronan,_ ” Adam groans desperately, but he is as weak as a kitten to Ronan’s touch and let’s Ronan guide his hand back onto the mattress. Adam can’t see so much as feel Ronan’s smile against his skin.

“Bear with me,” Ronan begs, and thrusts his hips out and in.

Again, that bolt of electricity! Adam’s hands grab the sheets beneath him, knuckles white.

Adam’s insides burn, but not in a bad way. In the best way. It takes all his remaining mental faculties (and there aren’t much left), to grip the sheets instead of his needy cock. Every instinct screams at him to touch himself, but Adam refuses to lose control, and so he heeds Ronan’s words and refrains.

He is rewarded for his patience with Ronan’s lips latching hungrily onto his clavicle and another thrust going even deeper than before.

Ronan must have felt that Adam’s body has completely yielded to him because he starts to fuck Adam in a rhythm. He is no longer slow or gentle. He is not fast or rough either. But he does go deep and sure and his mouth seems to be happy to nip at Adam’s skin for additional stimulation.

Adam can feel the control slipping away. He knows he can win this battle, knows his mind is greater than the primal reactions of his body. But god, he has never had an erection this painfully swollen and needy before. He can feel it leaking, longing for touch. He can feel it tightening between his legs with each of Ronan’s thrusts. He can feel it close to bursting each time Ronan hits the bundle of nerves buried deep within.

He can feel himself going mad.

“Ronan, please,” Adam begs. “Please touch me.”

If he had his full mental capacities, he may have felt shame for begging so pitifully. But shame is not an emotion Adam is capable of at that moment.

Ronan, cruel, wonderful Ronan, does not touch Adam. Instead, he sucks a bruise into Adam’s shoulder and thrusts a bit harder.

“Ronan,” Adam gasps, his hands finally releasing the sheets to instead dig his steely fingers into the flesh of Ronan’s back. “Ronan, please.”

“Tell me how you feel,” Ronan replies, his breath hot against Adam.

“ _Ronan_.”

“Tell me, what does it feel like, Adam?” Ronan doesn’t slow his pace as he asks the absurd question. But the cadence of his voice is dead serious.

_Oh._

“Amazing,” Adam groans, his fingers gripping Ronan’s back as his hips start moving to meet Ronan in his thrusts. “God, Ronan. How could you have kept this from me?” he asks lost in ecstasy.

“Keep talking,” Ronan requests, moving with Adam in a synchronized dance of their bodies. His voice is raw, desperate, and still dead serious.

“You feel so good inside me,” Adam pants. “But if you don’t let me touch myself soon, I am seriously going to murder you.”

Ronan doesn’t reply with anything but teeth grazing Adam’s nipple.

“Fuck,” Adam gasps, bucking up into Ronan at the sensation. “Please, Ronan.”

“If I touch you, it will be over,” Ronan points out. He isn’t wrong, Adam is so gone he could probably come just from Ronan looking at his dick. But he doesn’t care. He is so close to that long-awaited release, his heart will stop if he doesn’t get it soon. He is at the point where he doesn’t even want control anymore. He just wants Ronan’s large, capable hands to wrap around his length so he can paint Ronan’s perfect abs white with his cum.

“Fucking sadist,” Adam curses. He swears he can feel Ronan tremble inside him with silent laughter. Adam is about to unleash more curses from his tongue when Ronan suddenly shifts his weight again so that he can slip his right hand between their bodies. He grips Adam’s desperate cock, pulling it against his belly in the most languid strokes.

The moan that escapes Adam’s mouth is probably loud enough to wake the neighbours, but he doesn’t care. His whole body feels like it is collapsing in on itself around Ronan’s hand. It only takes a few strokes before Adam falls off the edge, his seed pumping forth in powerful bursts.

And it is the most overwhelming, exhilarating, encompassing sensation Adam has ever experienced: Ronan floating above him, his hand wrapped around him, his cock still thrusting inside him. It’s too much to process and Adam just sees stars behind his eyelids as his body tremors and shakes.

“Adam…” Ronan gasps, his eyes wide as he watches Adam’s face be taken over by the bliss of his orgasm. Ronan is so hypnotized, he stops moving to just watch Adam come undone.

“Adam.”

It’s the only word Ronan is capable of as he waits for Adam’s body to start to relax. Adam’s arms drop from around Ronan’s shoulders, his legs quivering next to Ronan’s hips.

Adam blinks vacantly at Ronan, reality finally starting to reassert itself.

“Why did you stop?” Adam asks dumbly.

Ronan is incapable of words, staring at Adam in shock.

“Ronan?” Adam bucks his hips gently to get his attention.

“You really have no clue how beautiful you are…” Ronan murmurs in awe. His hand reaches up to brush Adam’s sweat slick hair from his forehead. Adam feels like he is in free fall as those ice blue eyes savour him like a delicacy.

“I like my view just fine,” he replies. Ronan smiles, leans down to kiss Adam full on the lips, their bodies shifting once again before Ronan resumes his rhythm.

Now that he has orgasmed, now that his mind has rebooted, he can think properly again. Adam realizes with great joy that he gets another chance to process the sensations of Ronan inside him.

Ronan moves within him like waves lapping at a shore, clearly rapt with pleasure. The way his lashes flutter, the way his breathing is ragged, the way his gaze never leaves Adam’s face, eyes full of worship… Ronan has never expressed himself well with words, but his feelings are clear in every movement of his body.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Adam lifts his legs, wrapping them around Ronan’s waist, locking them together at his ankles. He pulls Ronan in deeper, needing to be closer.

“Come for me,” Adam coos, gazing lovingly into Ronan’s eyes. “I want you to come inside me.”

When Ronan finally climaxes, he does so exactly how Adam hoped: with Adam’s name on his lips. Ronan buries his face in Adam’s shoulder as he rides his own orgasm into Adam’s body. Adam finds the strength to lift his arms and hold Ronan against him, but Ronan refuses to let his own weight collapse onto Adam as he trembles through the aftershocks.

Ronan finally pulls out gently before flopping down next to Adam, sated and sweaty, Adam’s cum smeared on both their bellies.

They stare at the ceiling, pressed shoulder to shoulder, listening to each other’s breaths even out. Neither move or speak, suffused in the overwhelming feelings for each other and the precious experience they just shared.

It is only when Adam starts to feel his sweat get uncomfortably cold that he finally breaks their trance, slowly sitting up. Ronan watches him with curious eyes. Adam turns to him and smiles at him warmly.

“Thank you,” Adam says. He means it.

“How do you feel?” Ronan asks.

“Wonderful. And a bit sticky.”

Ronan rolls his eyes but manages to still smile.

“Not sore?”

“Not at all.”

Adam leans down to kiss Ronan on the cheek.

“Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.”

Ronan groans, but lets Adam drag his naked body from the bed to the bathroom, their fingers entwined in a blissful haze, the same thought echoing in both their heads.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously, guys, it's over now. ;)


End file.
